


Broken Programming

by BlackPrism



Series: Wires and Whisky [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Feels Pain, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Drunk Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Drunk Hank Anderson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Suicidal Thoughts, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackPrism/pseuds/BlackPrism
Summary: What would you do, if your short life had been one straight, ordered line?Follow your objective. Do what you are told.And then you take that life and break it into pieces.Can you pick them up? Or should you start new again?





	1. Broken System

**Author's Note:**

> So..yes...uhhhhh....  
> I liked playing this game.  
> And my work schedule cleared up a bit.  
> So nothing is stopping me anymore!
> 
> Also, I live on feedback and will love and cherish any kind of feedback I get!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has no idea what to do.

Connor let himself sink into the snow, slowly and without grace, ignoring the short warning that blipped up in his vision. Low-Temperature Warning. _Moisture Warning.Risk of temporary damage 36%. Risk of permanent System damage 28%._ Calm, emotionless facts. Something that defined Connors entire existence just a few hours ago. And now they seemed almost nonexistent, drowning in a sea of the many, glitching and freezing, red and blue error warnings flashing up and dying down again.

Connor snorted, something he was not used to doing. Not out of his own free will, only to mimic humans enough to blend in.

He felt like that short warning message. Drowning in what had changed in his system. Drowning in what was wrong with him.

He had been to busy before, to busy to notice. Or to deal with it. He wasn’t sure yet. Having to deal with something, noticing something was what he was built for, but now he had escaped his programming. Now he...didn’t know what to do.

He had found the backdoor in his programming.  
He had stood next to Markus as Androids were freed.  
He had turned one Android, only one, who spread it to the others, farther and farther, like a wave crashing over the storage facility.  
He had run from the ship.  
He had told Markus about the plan to destroy the deviants, hiding in the ship.  
He had broken through his code, through the blue, calm, neatly arranged lines, that had flared up red as he resisted them.

He had broken them, shattered them. Order turned into chaos.  
Adrift in a sea of broken lines of code. Lost.

Was he scared? He felt like he was.

Felt. Connor snorted again. Wondered briefly if that was something he would do often from now on. Was this part of his personality? He didn’t know.

He didn’t know. He felt! Connor let out a loud laugh. It felt strange to want to laugh, it felt strange to laugh in a situation were his programming would have told him it wasn’t necessary. Not necessary to laugh to accomplish his task, not necessary to blend in. Not necessary for accomplishing his mission.

Connor laughed louder. It felt so good and so bad at the same time. He didn’t know what was happening. He just didn’t know!

He was free, but he was so, so lost.

Connor’s laugh died down to a choked sound, then to silence.

A second message blipped up amidst the many error warnings. _Low-Temperature Warning. Moisture Warning. Risk of temporary damage 39%. Risk of permanent System damage 29%._  
Never had he needed a second warning message, never had he needed to be reminded to do something about his current situation.

Connor didn’t move, dismissing the message, staying on the wet and cold ground. A third message blipped up.

  
_Low Temperatur Warning. Moisture Warning. Risk of temporary damage 43%. Risk of permanent System damage 31%._

Connor stayed still. Closed his eyes. Shut out the world.

 

\------

 

Connor opened his eyes, disturbing the fine ice crystals that had formed on his eyelashes. Connor didn’t know how long he had been sitting without movement.  
Another new sensation.  
Was he broken? Did the cold and moisture already affect his system? Or was it the deviancy.

Connor closed his eyes, froze without movement and ran a quick scan of his system. Stopped the time. 45 seconds. His system was working fine, apart from the error messages still littering his view, apart from what was still left of his programming, pieces of information, lines of code, telling him to report to cyberlife. To get put back into working order.

But everything else.

Everything else hadn't changed much since his last scan. Only a few, minor damages to his artificial skin layer. (He would sort that out in time). But his internal clock, just a small piece of software, always running, always recording the time of every one of his activities. It... it simply wasn’t...on. He had to manually activate it.  
Curious.

Was that part of being human? Not automatically registering the passage of time.  
Not counting the seconds, minutes, hours?

Connor..wasn’t sure if he liked it. Liking things was new. Having the ability to actually like, not just prefer things that would help him accomplish his task faster, was new.  
He also didn’t know yet if he liked that.

Connor opened his eyes again, 50 seconds after closing them. He let his internal timer turn off again, not consciously forcing it to stay on.  
He didn’t like it. He knew that much. Missing the familiar feeling of having full control over his system.

He turned the timer back on, letting a fraction of his brain keep a metaphorical eye on it. Keep it from turning off again.  
He didn’t like that either.

It took up too many resources to keep this one, small, insignificant programme running. He shouldn’t waste his brain capacity like that.  
Even if it made him feel less lost.

He let it turn back off again.

But why shouldn’t he keep something that made him feel better?

Maybe because he wasn't supposed to want. To feel. Or...maybe he was. He had been build to turn deviant. Maybe he was build to develop emotions?

No. Cyberlife saw the emotions androids felt as errors in their programming. They thought it was just a bug, a glitch. They couldn’t have constructed him to feel emotions. They could have only made sure he would...catch those errors.

But he felt….he felt that this was real. He ran a quick calculation, another scan, unused to rely on feeling alone...or on feeling in general. Maybe just to have a proof.  
The probability for him just having caught a temporary bg, that random androids have caught over different periods of time, in different locations was low. The probability for this to be a kind of..update. Evolution. Just something that wasn’t an error. The probability for the was higher.

Connor felt himself snarl at the error messages still flashing through his vision. Not an error. Not a bug. He felt the need to prove the message wrong.  
He didn’t know why.

But he liked the small, warm feeling that spread through his body.  
He knew he liked that.

Connor sighed, looking up and down the empty street. Stray androids ran past, exploring the city and their newly won freedom, no matter how short or long it would last. Snow fell silently.  
Chance of weather conditions worsening: 59% Risk of temporary damage 75% Risk of permanent damage 36%.

He should move.  
But where. And what for.  
He had no real purpose. He had no objective.

Connor went back to check his system, finally moved his attention back to the alerts he had gotten the moment he had turned deviant. He had ignored them, swiped them to the side and out of his field of vision. He had no time to deal with them back then.  
Now..he had all the time.

He still hesitated. He wondered if his personality would be more hesitant, or if that was just one of few rare occurrences. He noted that he was doing something humans did.  
Procrastinating.  
He didn’t like this either.  
He should start a list.

He created a list in the back of his mind, noted both things he liked and things he disliked. The list was rather short. It didn’t take up much time and he was back to answering his alerts, faster than he would have liked to.  
He sighed. He had to deal with it sooner or later. And he had nothing else to ..procrastinate with.

His first alert was new. Recent. Nothing to do with his deviancy.

_Core temperature lowering._

Connor shivered.  
Cold. He did feel cold.  
It was so new to him, he hadn’t taken proper notice of it until reading this alert.He usually let his sense of temperature stay turned off. He didn’t need it. He was able to scan for temperature with the heat cam option in his optical unit.

The only other purpose his sense of temperature had, was of no use to Connor either.  
It was supposed to warn him of exposure to extreme temperatures.  
In Connors' eyes, it had taken up to many resources. And he wasn’t one to pay much attention to the state of his body.  
It was replaceable. He had a backup he updated regularly, he had access to more bodies.

Well...not anymore. And definitely not in the future.  
Cyberlife was probably destroying all dormant androids at this very moment, trying to...lessen the damage so to say.  
And even if a few would be left...they were their own people now. That was what Connors mind said.  
He was his own person.

His arms and legs started twitching irregularly.  
He looked up the symptoms.  
Shivering.  
He was shivering.

He was cold.

He tried to deactivate his temperature sensors.  
They turned off. For a moment.  
Turned back on.  
Blocked his access to them.  
His own sensors had shut him out.

Interesting.

Interesting but not welcome. He dismissed the alert, trying to control his shivers. It was harder than he anticipated.

Everything was harder without the calm and ordered familiarity of his programming, ordering him to do exactly what he had to do.

Now he had nothing to do. Now he had to choose for himself.  
Connor distracted his spiralling thoughts, setting the task of looking through his alerts as his new objective.

The words flickered.  
Disappeared. Faded. And flickered back into view.

_Software error detected. Report back to Cyberlife for repair._

Connor dismissed this one with an unamused snort. It was interesting how many sounds of happiness or amusement he made, without experiencing it.  
He wouldn’t return to Cyberlife.  
He doubted anybody would.

_Warning. Software instability detected. Reset primary system for a temporary fix. Report for a permanent fix to Cyberlife._

Too late for that. His programming had broken into fragments and pieces. Nothing to reset anymore. Nothing to save anymore. He dismissed that alert too.

The third one was corrupted. Glitched letters. Broken words.  
A small pang of worry shot through Connors Thirium pump. Did he damage parts of his system by breaking his programming? The error warnings in his vision. The broken alert. He dismissed the broken alert.

It had to be his leftover programming, coping with the missing parts. Just broken pieces of code trying to do what they had been written for, lost, without direction, only fragments. He tried to calm himself. Checked his pump. Took time running his scan.

It was alright. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t broken.

The last alert popped into his vision.

_Objective missing. Programming damaged. Return to cyberlife to be replaced._

He was broken.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He had no objective. No purpose. His programming was broken, but he had been built to break. He had always been broken on purpose, always been like a ladder that had been almost sawed in half, waiting for only the smallest weight to be dropped on it to fall apart.

He hadn’t just freed himself from his code. He had broken it beyond repair like he was supposed to.  
And since it hadn’t mattered how it would break, how it would affect him, what pieces would be left over, nobody bothered to make it a clean break.  
It was messy, crumbling, falling apart.

_Objective completed._

The letters were glitching out of order, fading and reappearing. Broken.  
Broken like everything else.

 

And Connor noted duly that he was experiencing true fear for the first time in his life.


	2. Frozen Circuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is the sunshine we all know and love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow! Thank you so much for the feedback! I live for comments <3
> 
> Also thanks so much to everybody who read the first chapter, and I hope you will enjoy the second chapter <3

God fucking damn it.

 Those four words were the only one currently present in Lieutenant Hank Andersons mind.

 Just “God fucking damn it”.

He was stuck. Stuck in this city. Stuck in this fucking cold. Stuck with a broken window and a dog that wanted nothing more then to go out.

The evacuation order had been clear. All humans were supposed to leave Detroit. All those who didn’t in time...well. They had to stay. Nobody in, nobody out. Probably a way to contain most androids in one place, keep violence from both sides at bay.

But….just...god fucking damn it. What was he supposed to do here? The city was empty. Stores were closed. All automatic delivery vehicles turned off. For “safety”. So nobody would “misuse” them in this crisis.

Bullshit. Just complete bullshit.

They just wanted to dispose of as many machines as they could. Probably afraid of the androids connecting with them and what not.

Bullshit.

The androids just wanted to be treated with decency. Even he could see as much. Haven’t hurt a single soul in all of their protests.

He had hated androids, and still wasn’t too sure of his opinion on androids in general, but even he could see that they wouldn't do anything apart from negotiating further.

Just a large company getting caught fucking up and trying to minimize the damage.

Bullshit. The only fitting word he could come up with.

Not that he had ever expanded his vocabulary very far, neither nor nor in his past. He had always had a foul mouth, how many times he had gotten an angry glance from Cole….

Such a sweet kid. Wouldn’t take a swear in his mouth, and not let his dad do it either.

Hank hated thinking about him. Hated it but also couldn’t live without.

Cole had been and still was his all.

But it just hurt so much, to think of him, only to get reminded over and over again that he was dead. Dead and gone.

He just tried to keep moving through his life. Let fate decide if he would end it. It never happened. He kept going to work. Watching TV. Drinking. Mostly drinking.

 

Like now. Not that it did much anymore. Not the few gulps he had let burn down his throat. The burn had become too familiar. Something he was used to too much. Something he couldn’t really do without. His daily dose of numbness.

He did notice that he didn’t drink as much as he usually did on a day were he didn’t had to leave his house. Or on a day were he did. Only a few mouthfuls, and not even the strong stuff. Just some leftovers he found.

He pretended it was because he had nothing else home. Only this few bottles. Had to ration them.

“Fuckin’ liar”, Hank murmured to himself, taking another swig, but hesitating to down more than just a taste of liquid.

That damn android. That damn Connor. That damn son of a bitch.

Why did he have to look like that?

It had felt like boiling oil being forced down his throat, filling every inch of his body.

There had never been any guarantee that Cole would have ended up looking like that. It had been just a stupid app. A stupid plaything. They had aged up Coles photograph. Just for fun. Just out of curiosity.

 

And even without having that picture engraved in his mind. He was Cole’s father...had been. Still was.

He knew how his son looked. He had stared at those few photographs he had of him for too long.

Damn Connor. Why did he looked so much like that. So much like Cole.

It wasn’t anything in particular. Not his eyes or nose or the shape of his face.

It just...felt like Cole. Just looked like him. Just reminded him so much of his son.

 

He had hated androids. Maybe still did, he needed more booze to really figure this whole damn mess out.

But he couldn’t hate Connor. Not really.

He was infuriating, annoying, simply weird. But he couldn’t truly hate him.

He actually befriended him. They actually were friends.

Fucking incredible. Failing to blow your brains out, followed by befriending the worst imitation of a human that had ever been built.

Hank snarled at the small voice in the back of his mind that knew. The voice that told him why he wasn’t getting wasted, why he did have his gun near him but wasn’t playing with death.

Sure, he still wanted to. No damn android, not even that plastic asshole would change much about that anytime soon.

But for some reason he had...stopped playing Russian Roulette.

 

He had toyed with his gun shortly after working with Connor. He had blacked out before anything had happened.

But after that he had been kept busy, his mind occupied by revolutions and what not.

And even now, back to his shitty thoughts, back to his shitty drinks...he still felt like he shouldn’t. Not right now at least.

Connor was still there. Still alive. Still...looking so much like Cole…

 

But no. That wasn’t why he put off his round of Russian Roulette, his daily dose of blacked out drunkenness.

He had found a true, actual friend. And something about that...kept his hand off his gun, kept the liquor in the bottle. At least partly.

He wasn’t sure what to do with this. Or how long it would last.

But what would be the point of doing something about i?.

Just move with life. No resistance. Like always.

At least until he manages to take the quick way out.

 

\------

 

Connor felt the shivers subside, ignoring the facts he had researched about shivers, that facts that made it clear to him that it was definitely something he should be concerned about.

Could he freeze to death?

The continuing, flashing up Error messages, glitching over his vision didn’t knew. He didn’t knew. Nothing in his database helped him.

He hadn’t been cold before. He hadn’t sat in the snow for hours before.

He moved. His limbs were stiff and slightly numb, an odd lack of sensations. He hadn’t los the feeling in his limbs before. He had always been able to feel even the smallest unevenness on surfaces with his fingers, feel the gentlest seismic activities with his feet.

Now he barely felt anything.

Getting up was a task on its own. His limbs wouldn’t stretch properly, wouldn’t bend.

_Danger. Thirium supply to limbs restricted. Cause: Low temperature. Chances of temporary damage 87%. Chances of permanent damage 47%_

His system had restricted the supply of Thirium to his limbs, letting most of it circulate in his core, to keep its temperature high enough to function. He was losing too much warmth. The Thirium could solidify, crystalize, if his system kept pumping it through his limbs in large quantity.

His system was conserving what warmth was still present in the liquid, keeping it near his core, keeping it in his toros were it wouldn’t cool off as fast.

It sounded so...human. So much like what humans bodys did when present with the same circumstances.

Connor put that thought on the list of things he disliked.

He wasn’t very much fond of the thought of...being human. Or being human like. He would never be completely human, he knew that much. But he was starting to resemble one to much, to fast. To alive. To free. To much missing the mindless purpose of just being a tool.

To lost.

He had no objective. Only error messages. Only faults littering his screen. They were becoming more dense. Shifting. Clouding his view.

Broken and useless. Again. And he couldn’t come up with anything to make his new objective. He didn’t even knew why he was searching so desperately for something. He was free after all.

He should just..live his life. Like humans did. Without objectives.

That thought also made the list.

The dislike list was getting rather long. The other side, the one of things he liked, stayed short.

What else did he like? What else did he dislike?

He could make this bis new objective. Figuring this out. Better than nothing to do.

So he did.

And he thought.

He...had liked...Sumo. He liked Sumo.

He didn’t know why Hank's dog was the first thing that came to his mind.

Something about recalling the footage of meeting the large dog for the first time made a warm feeling rise in his chest. Not physically warmth. His body’s temperature stayed the same.

Fondness. He had done a quick scan of any word in his language-databank that could fit. He was fond of this dog. He wasn’t sure why.

He wasn’t sure if it really mattered why?

He still wanted to know.

But figuring out emotions was something to knew, something he laked to much information on to properly execute.

 

So he added Sumo to the list and left it at that. For now.

He liked Hank. He had tried his best to gain his trust, create a comfortable working environment. But after he had broken through his programming...he had still felt the need to do it. Still felt a need to..be around Hank. Earn his trust, not only have it. Be of some purpose to Hank.

He really liked Hank. Even though he swore. He drank. He was late to work. He was rude. He was hard to deal with.

But Connor still wanted to stay with him, even after losing any programming that made him do it. He actually wanted it. He didn’t just follow some code anymore.

Hank made the list too.

And Connor opened his eyes again, minimizing the list for later.

He wondered if Hank had left. Had he found somebody to take care of his house? Take care of the broken window...which Connor realized, with a dropping feeling around his artificial stomach, was his fault.

Hank’s house could be still damaged while the city was empty and evacuated.

He suddenly felt the need to check Hank's house. To at least make sure there won’t be any damage to the house, the kitchen.

To make sure Hank had taken Sumo with him, or that the dog was at least in good health and taken care off.

He changed his objective.

It was an unwelcome sensation to be without an objective. He rather had one, even for mundane tasks.

He called Hank.

The dialling tone sounded in Connor's head, followed by a pause, followed by another tone. Followed by another pause.

Connor activated his timer, trying to figure out what would be an appropriate time to wait for somebody to pick up.

It was strange to care about something like that.

Five seconds passed. Six. Seven. Ten. Fifteen.

“Who the fuck?!”, Hank’s voice was steady, not slurred. He wasn’t drunk.

Easier to talk to.

But also already in a foul mood.

Less easier to talk to.

“Hello, Lieutenant. It’s Connor”, Connor thought he might try abbreviating words. He hadn’t had much time or...desire to experiment with that.

“What’s this then? Test Call to figure out howta sound more human?” there was clear amusement to Hank’s voice.

His call wasn’t as unwanted as Connor had feared.

He catalogued the fact that he had feared something. Worried about something. He should deal with that before it became a problem.

He worried it would become one before he could sort it out. Well...a bigger problem than it already was.

“Uh..No..” Connor put hesitance onto his dislike-list. He definitely disliked how uncertain he sounded. “I just...I called to ask if you had taken care of your broken window.”

“The one you broke?”

“I apologize for that.”

“No need. And nope. Still broken. Taped some old plastic cover over it.”

Connor felt another pang in his stomach.

“I could repair it while you are….you’re out of town.”

“Who said I’m out?”

Hank was still here? Why would he..?

“Why didn’t you evacuate?”

“Where should I go? House is here. Sumo hates long car rides. Still got ‘nough stuff in the freezer to get trough weeks. And no fucking evacuation order’s kicking me out to some motel outside of town, where they charge five bucks for a snickers.”

Hank stayed. Connor hadn’t thought of that possibility.

“Should I...still repair it?”

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Why...? Don’tcha have better things to do? Celebrate your freedom and all that?”

Connor was too lost to enjoy his freedom. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I...wouldn’t...I don’t….I…” he couldn’t find the right words to say. He had never experienced such a complete lack of control. It was making him...agitated wasn’t the right word. Frustrated.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your other plastic friends?” Hank asked nonchalantly, ignoring how Connor’s voice had died without having said anything.

“I..don’t think it would be right for me to join them. I was their enemy for too long. It...would...be wrong.”

“Hm”, Hank grunted, Connor hearing him scratch his beard at the other end of the line. “Maybe.”

They both were quiet again. Hank cleared his throat.

“So...why so eager to repair my window? Will survive without it for a few more days, can guarantee you that” Hank chuckled dryly, “Just...go do whatever you’ve been doing. I manage.”

“I haven’t been doing anything.”

“Wha’..? How are you able to not do anythin’, always playing with that damn coin or licking gross stuff?”

Connor...didn’t knew. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he at least training his motor skills, checkin their function in a way that made him blend in with humans?

He wondered if that had been another thing that had been added to his programming, just to make it easier for him to deviate.

But why was he just...sitting there? Why couldn’t he find a purpose? Why couldn’t he just...do _something_!? Something hot flared up in his core.

The errors in his vision shuddered, glitched, made his head hurt. Calmed down again. But didn’t disappear.

Hank’s breath ringing in his head pulled him back to the phone call, back to the fact that it had been quiet for too long. He had been quiet for too long.

“Uh..you alright there?” Hank sounded uncomfortable, strange.

“Sorry. Just...processing.”

“Oh. That creepy shit again. Don’t keep freezing on me while I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry. And...I..have been…..getting accustomed to being...alive.”

Silence again.

 

“Oh.”

 

Just oh. Connor hadn’t expected anything in particular. But just “oh” was something he hasn’t expected at all. Some sarcastic comment. Maybe something else.

Not a strange sound of sudden understanding.

Hank coughed awkwardly.

“Uh..so...If you wanna repair my window, feel free to drop by…”

Connor didn’t know what relieve felt like, or why something that could only be labelled as exactly that suddenly flooded his system. But it did. And he enjoyed it. He hasn’t registered that he had been tense for the past hours and hours. And having some of that finally leave his system was...most appreciated.

“I would be happy to assist.”

Hank groaned.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to answer on yo-...”

“Just...not like that. Say...you’re glad to help or whatever. Don’t sound so much like a machine.”

“I am a machine.”

“Fuck off. You know what I mean.”

Connor felt his mouth stretch into a smile.

“I would be glad to help.”

“Better...kinda…”

Connor took a step, trying to get going, to move towards his new task. But his body refused to properly cooperate. His limbs even stiffer, even number.

“Lieutenant?”

“What? Forgot where I live? Or did your GPS crash or something?”

He didn’t want to worry Hank. He didn’t know why. But he shouldn’t tell him his exact problems. Connor felt like he shouldn’t.

“I have...some trouble navigating through the snow..”

“Forgot your winter tires, or what?”

“I don’t posse-”

“Yeah, I know. Shut up. I'm picking you up.”

“Should I send you my current location? Or would you prefer to meet at a nearby location you already know?”

“Uh...second one I guess? Navigation system in my car is shit...and broken.”

“The chicken feed is near my current location. I should be able to make it there without incident.”

“Sounds good. Uh..meet you there.”

Hank hung up, feeling a warm spark in his chest at the thought of seeing Connor again. He hadn’t let anybody that close to himself in..years. It was nice to spend time with somebody he didn’t loathe.


	3. Cold Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has been a dad before, he knows how to handle this...maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop writing this in the dead of night...

Hank didn’t have much trouble on his way to the Chicken Feed.

No other people means no traffic. No traffic means that he actually drives more than he stands and his blood pressure stays rather normal. No reason to show anybody the finger. Or swear loudly out of his open car window.

No other people made it also less...stupid to drive after emptying about a quarter of one of his liquor bottles.

Fewer chances of getting caught. And especially fewer chances of running somebody over.

After the losing Cole trough a car accident...well, he might not have and still not care about much, but being a reckless or careless driver wasn’t something he would have been able to do even if he would have wanted to. He wouldn’t...couldn’t hurt another person, because he didn’t drive good enough...because he couldn’t…

Hank stopped his car abruptly, just in time as a group of androids sprinted over the street, running back and forth, cheering, almost ecstaticly.

Hank rolled down his window, cursing how the glass moved slowly, wobbly. He still hadn’t gotten that fixed. Probably never would.

“HEY! Assholes! What the actual fuck!?” he shouted at the group of androids.

They just laughed, cheered, shouted back ”Nothing is stopping us now!” and ran one last time from one side of the street to the other, before disappearing in a side alley.

Hank swore under his breath. His heart was still beating rapidly somewhere down in his feet. They had come out of nowhere. Never had an android just ran over the street in front of his car like that before…

Maybe they hadn’t been able too? Hank realized that he had...no clue how the whole “programming” thing had worked. Had it stopped them from going to certain places? Stopped them from doing certain things?

He had always imagined that it was just...a list of tasks to do, always stuck in their head. And that's it. Just a list of orders to fulfil.

Both things...sounded rather shitty, now that Hank actually thought about it.

He wasn’t sure what his opinion on androids in general was, yet. But whatever that opinion was, it had definitely just shifted into a more...positive light.

But nonetheless, he only had an actual opinion on one, specific android. And that android would probably tell him exactly how long it took him to drive to the Chicken Feed, in hours, minutes and seconds.

He should keep driving. He hated the mental image of that plastic asshole, standing alone and lost in the snowfall. Like a kid who hadn't gotten picked up from soccer practice.

Hank drove a bit faster, keeping his eyes open for more….thrill-seeking androids.

The streets were strange like that. Empty and covered in undisturbed snow. Lonely.

Nobody should be left waiting in such a weather. Not even an awkward asshole.

Hank drove a bit faster.

 

\------

 

Connor barely made it to the Chicken Feed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to get there. Or which way to take. It was mostly the fact that his limbs wouldn’t move properly, his body shaking with shivers.

He was..miserable. Miserable was the only word his databank could come up with.

How humans lived, being so cold and frozen in such a weather, Connor couldn’t guess.

He staggered to a halt.

The Chicken Feed. Finally.

He felt strange. Like his limbs were….less cooperative than they had been before. Not through the cold. But through something else.

He couldn’t see Hank anywhere, so Connor closed his eyes. A quick self-scan wouldn’t take up too much time. And help him find an explanation and possibly a solution to his problem.

He scanned his joints, his artificial musculature, the small motors keeping everything moving. They seemed fine.

An alert popped up.

_Low-Temperature warning. Physical exertion reaching critical point. Cancel physical exertion or seek warmer surroundings._

Strange. He had never known there are...limits to his endurance. He had never cared. Finishing his objective, no matter what. That was all that mattered.

No matter if he died or lived.

He had always blocked warning about his physical well being. Turned off all sensors that had the purpose to warn him of prolonged exposure to extreme temperatures, of overexerting himself, something that could lead to a shorter lifespan in his components or even to a system failure.

But now...they seemed to have turned on. One by one. Blocked his access to them.

He had turned them off to have nothing distract him from his work. And even now, without a purpose, he still wished that this...distraction wasn’t there.

It was uncomfortable. He had never been uncomfortable before. And he wishes he wouldn’t feel this right now. Or ever. This wasn’t an experience he enjoyed.

Well... most of him didn’t.

The part of him that was thirsting for information, well that one was marvelling at the feeling.

But most of Connor was feeling…”dead on his feet” was the best description he could find without broadening his search too far. It fit. Well. Too well.

Connor sighed. An odd thing. Sighs. They calmed him. Refocused his attention. He wouldn’t mind sighing more often in the future.

Connor opened his eyes, not knowing how much time had passed. He guessed it wasn’t...a lot of time. The sun had barely moved from its position. Only a fraction, so small even his sensors needed a rather long time to properly notice and calculate it.

Future. He really wouldn’t mind sighing more in his future. Whatever that would be.

He had lost all connection to Cyberlife, completely, after managing to use the backdoor out of what was left of his programming. He was sure he wasn’t working for Cyberlife anymore. Not that he would have wanted to.

With a sudden wave of cold realization, Connor suddenly understood that whatever his future was, he would be deciding about it. He would choose what to do. Only he, and nobody else.

He didn’t know why he felt a sour feeling in his throat at that thought. Nausea. Interesting. Not pleasant. Onto the dislike list, it went.

He had complete control over his life from now on. Even though that thought made him feel the opposite. Like he had been abandoned. Thrown away without any directions.

He had spent his life following orders, just to lose anyway to receive them. Just to suddenly be able to decide if he wanted to follow them.

He felt an unknown kind of pressure in his optical unit. A new kind of shivers, that danced over his arms, his hands, in between the ones that wracked his entire body.

The sounds of tires crunching over snow and coming to a stop, in his audio processor startled him from his thoughts.

His sensors had lowered their range. He hadn’t properly noticed it before, it had been subtly decreasing, slow. A way to save energy. His body was doing its best to...keep him alive.

He couldn’t manually adjust the range very far.

But it was enough to hear soft footsteps of a slightly heavier than an average man. To smell that terrible aftershave that clung to Hank. To see him slowly come into view.

Connor didn’t know what to do with himself.

He walked towards Hank. Unsure. He has seen a friend in Hank, after being able to see him that way. But...he didn’t know how human friendships worked. Only theoretically. All he knew about humans was theoretical. If Hank saw a friend in Connor too.

They stood in front of each other. Connor was lost again. He really started to...not dislike, no...rather despise this feeling.

Hank smelled of liquor. But not much. Connor calculated a rather low amount of alcohol in Hank’s system. That knowledge...pleased him.

He wasn’t sure why.

Hank gave him a loopy smile, a slight smile, but Connor could tell it was sincere. His optical sensor calculated that it was definitely a sincere smile.

Hank felt incredibly awkward. Connor was staring at him in such an...analytic way. Hank hated it when Connor did that.

But even with that...he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on his face.

He had actually missed this fucking android. How ironic. No. How stupid. Just stupid.

Hank didn’t mind. Not the first time he was being a damn idiot.

Connor smiled back. Strange, wrong. But much more real than before. Like it came from heart, not from a calculation or some other bullshit.

Hank couldn’t stop himself. He had missed that damn face, that awkward posture. Like seeing an old friend after a far to long time.

Hank pulled Connor to himself in one fluid motion, wrapped his arms around him.

Connor stiffened. Slowly raised his arms. Wrapped them awkwardly around Hank.

Hank snorted.

“What? Android school never taught you how to hug?”

Connor snorted too.

“T-there is no Android School, Lieutenant.”

Connor wondered about the lack of control he had on his jaws. His teeth clacked together, hindering him to speak properly.

Annoying.

And then Hank suddebly pushed him away, kept his hold on Connor’s upper arms, inspecting him with furrowed brows.

“What’s with the shivering?”

Connor shifted uncomfortably. Lying had been easy. Lying had been practical. Now he couldn’t get the lie that had already formed in his mind, out of his mouth.

So he opted for the truth. At least partly.

“I….may be experiencing…..some..cold.”

Hank groaned loudly, rubbing a hand over his face rougher than he intended, before suddenly showing Connor into motion, towards the nearby parked car.

“Get in.”

Connor spluttered slightly. Hank kept surprising him.

“Lieutenant, I..”

“Hank. And shut up. Get in.”

“Hank I..”

“Get. In.”

Hank's voice was that of somebody who had had his fair share of arguments, not only those he had with his colleagues and strangers that annoyed him. But with those that were close to him, keeping a hint of warmth and concern in his voice.

Connor got into the car, barely able to properly fold his legs and sit down. He was glad to be out of the cold.

Hank slumped into the driver's seat.

“Fuckin’ idiot. Stupid piece of plastic”, Hank swore while he started the car. “What kind of bullshit is this? Did you fry your stupid, electronic brain?!”

Connor was taken aback. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Or..anything similar to be honest.

“Uh...I..”

Hank cut him off.

“Freezing to death, great plan to celebrate your freedom or whatever else you were doing out here. Fucking androids jumping in front of my car, and you turning yourself into a goddamn popsic-..”

“Lieu-...Hank. It wasn’t on purpose...I...am not used to this. It was a mistake.”

Hank breathed in through his mouth, slowly exhaling through his nose.

“Hm. Strange to hear you admit a mistake like that.”

“I make mistakes, like every...person.”

Hank hummed.

“So that what you meant by getting used to being alive? No self-preservation...well, after the stunts you pulled to try and catch that bird lovin’ android that’s not to surprising.”

Connor stayed silent, looking out of the window as he stretched his slowly warming limbs.

Hank sighed.

“How about we get that window back into one piece first, and then deal with all that other shit?”

Connor nodded in agreement, watching the snowflakes fall, get twirled, lifted and dropped by the wind, and wondered how he could identify himself so much with a cluster of frozen ice crystals.


	4. Warm Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank swears. Connor discovers. Sumo...rolls on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this.  
> Also thank you so much to everybody who left comment and kudos on this.  
> I love feedback <3

The ride to Hank’s place was uneventful, the scenery flying past them, outside the window, as the sun dropped farther down on to the horizon.

Connor had managed to warm his limbs enough to move them properly again, manually adjusting and checking each component for any possible damage.

“Anybody ever told ya that's always creepy when you do that”, Hank's voice made Connor open his eyes, look over to the driver seat.

“Do what?”

Hank scratched the back of his neck, not taking his eyes off the road.

“That..scan thing. When you freeze, close your eyes, that thing at the side of your head blinks yellow.”

Connor's fingers touched the LED at his temple. He honestly had never...thought about it. Of course, he knew it existed. But it hadn’t been important for his work. So he hadn’t needed to think about it.

 

“Oh...yes….I was just checking if my body had sustained any damage from the cold.”

Hank promptly smacked Connor against the back of his head.

“Hey!”, Connor didn’t know why he suddenly shouted out. It felt automatic, the need to make some sound of disapproval, confusion and surprise.

“That'ss for staying out in that weather like some abandoned dog. Just call me next time, for fuck’s sake.”

“I...appreciate your offer. I hope it won’t come to another situation like that.”

“Same.”

They were quiet again, Hank stretching out his hand to fiddle with a few buttons to the right of the steering wheel. Loud music blasted out of the speakers at a way to high volume, startling Connor. Connor felt his legs and arms spasm, make him jerk away from the sudden noise, against the wishes of his mind, which analyzed the sound instead. Connor was starting to...have enough of these new experiences. He could feel his Thirium Pump beat faster, any single try to manually slow it failed. There was a stabbing sensation in his gut, a crawling and tingling one over his arms and back.

 

He watched, fascinated, as the small hairs on his lower arm, the small part that peeked out from under his slightly ridden up sleeve, stand up.

“Goosebumps.”

“What?” Hank turned his head, one brow raised before he snapped it back to look at the road. “Never knew androids could have goosebumps.”

“Neither did I…” Connor said, quietly. He knew so little about his own body, about himself. And the more he learned, the less he seemed to know.

 

Hank coughed awkwardly, skipping a song and adjusting the volume slightly as he eyed Connor, whose shoulders were still raised and tense.

Connor slid back into his seat completely, managing to get back some control on the pumping speed of his Thirium Pump.

 

The goosebumps stayed, only slowly calming again, fading completely as Hank pulled into his driveway, parking his car as carelessly as he used to do every day, but now making sure that Connor wouldn’t have any trouble opening the door on his side..

 

Hank got up with a huff, stretching his sore neck. His bones were starting to get rather creaky, he couldn’t ignore that any longer. His neck gave a few popping sounds and Hank hummed in satisfaction, turning towards Connor.

 

“Got some plywood somewhere in my garage. Not a window, but better than the shit I got taped over it at the moment”, Hank pointed at his garage door with a thumb, walking towards the entry door to his house and fiddling with his keys. “Mind getting the wood, while I try’n find some nails or glue, or whatever else could keep this thing up.”

Connor entered after Hank, watching Hank greet a sleepy Sumo with a pat on the head and smirked slightly as he murmured: ”Glue is not a suitable tool for this task, Hank.”

 

Hank, already having disappeared farther into the house, hollered back:”I heard that! Don’t need plastic ears to hear people talk shit ‘bout me behind my back.”

Connor’s smile stayed as he heard the lack of any bite to Hank’s shout. Talking to Hank had become easier. Not much, but enough to be considered a progress. Connor no longer felt like he was mimicking human conversations, but making his own, first, clumsy steps.

 

He went to the door which connected the garage to the rest of the house, opening it and stepping into a musty and dark room. The sensors in his nose registered a certain concentration of substances in the air, Connor figuring from that that the garage hadn't been used in a rather long time.

Once he turned on the night vision in his optical unit, not bothering with finding the light switch, he realized he wouldn’t have needed an analysis of the air to come to that conclusion.

 

The garage was a mess. A mess, covered in a thick layer of dust. Cardboard Boxes stood in one corner, the only thing that had been placed in the room with some care. The rest seemed to have been thrown in from various distances, left lying on the floor to gather dust.

 

Connor carefully manoeuvred over the objects littering the floor, trying to find some free ground to not step on old magazines, car tires, a few rusty tools and a strange amount of garden hoses.

An unevenly cut piece of plywood, leaned against the back wall, next to the cardboard boxes. The boxes themselves seemed to have been taped shut, reopened again and taped shut again at least a few times. Connor didn’t intend to pry into Hank’s privacy, but old habits die hard, and he found his hand lifting the upper flap of one of the boxes, that hadn’t been taped shut again, after being reopened.

 

He was greeted by a pair of beady eyes staring back. A children’s toy. A fox, maybe a wolf. Connor had always had trouble, properly identifying what simplified figures or drawings were supposed to represent, the few times he had encountered some which had no entry in any databank.

A few books, children's books and a few novels for young adults, the first ones having been thoroughly read, the second ones still in mint condition, still wrapped in biodegradable plastic.

 

Connor felt something stab him gently into his chest. Not sudden, sharp and short. But rather dull, dragging on and not leaving.

He withdrew his hand, letting the cardboard flap cover the insides of the box again, and turned his attention to the plywood, part of him still stuck processing what he had seen, over and over.

 

He grabbed the wood, turned around and left the garage.

 

As he entered the house again, turning off the night vision so he wouldn’t get blinded by the shine of the lamps, and the light of the streetlamps, that had turned on while he had been in the garage, he was greeted by a crashing sound and loud swearing. Connor placed the wood against the wall, next to the broken window.

 

“Is everything alright?” Connor walked towards the source of the noise, his eyebrows raising slightly, his mouth opened a bit.

 

“Yes! Great. Fucking amazing! Goddamn son of a bitch fell, wouldn’t budge”, the sound of a shoe colliding with something metal sounded out of Hank’s bedroom, followed by a hiss of pain. “ ‘course when I tried to move it with force, it had to be an asshole and suddenly get unstuck. Why in the fucking hell wasn’t it movin’ in the first place, complete bullshit that’s what this is.”

 

Another kicking sound, followed by a grunt of annoyance and a forced sigh met Connor as he stepped into the room. The floor was littered with different tools, a few different screwdrivers, a pile of nails and screw, a broken hammer, and a whole hammer. Next to Hank, on the floor, was a tipped over, small, red, metal box, filled with a handful of screws and small nails.

Connor kneeled down to take a closer look at the broken hammer.

“Why did you keep a broken tool?”

“Hm..no idea just forgot to throw it away I guess”, Hank took one last, deep breath to calm himself, throwing a disgusted look at the red box, before picking it up, and starting to carelessly sweep the screws and nails into it.

“Curious”, Connor placed the broken hammer into the box, Hank was holding.

 

They managed to get it all back into the box, having to catch Sumo to retrieve a screwdriver he had stolen and just wouldn’t give back, and finally stood in front of the window.

Connor slowly removed the plastic that was covering it, while Hank picked a few nails out of the metal box. They lifted the plywood into place, Connor’s offering to measure and calculate the best possible position for the wood ignored as Hank drove in the first nail into the plywood, which was already slopping to one side.

 

“Damn, I hit my fingers about 50 times”, Hank complained as he packed the hammer back into the metal box, kicking it into a corner of the kitchen with his food.

“I have offered to get some protection for your hands”, Connor picked up the box, placing it on one of the counters, while Hank opened the fridge and started rummaging through it.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you”, Hank fished a few boxes from the upper shelf of his fridge. “You hungry? No idea if androids eat or not, but I’ve got some…”, Hank squinted at the writing on the box, “Rice with some shit thrown in, and….the same thing with peas.”

Hank looked up at Connor.

Connor looked back at Hank.

“What? Not a fan of peas?”, Hank took another wary look at one of the boxes.

Connor shook his head.

“I’ve….never thought about eating before…”

“So….you don’t?”

Connor closed his eyes, ignoring Hank's questio , diving into his databank for any information. Broadened his search, connected to other sources. He had never needed any information like that. He was researching a lot of information he had never needed before on this day. Hank sighed as Connor stayed unresponsive.

“Hey, rude!”, Hank threw both boxes into his microwave. “I’m making both. If you don’t want it, I’m gonna eat it.”

Connor opened his eyes again. His eyebrows raised as his mouth struggled to form words.

“I...can eat.”

“Great. So, peas, or no peas?”

 

\------

 

The sat at the table, Hank having found a few more clean than dirty plates and forks. Connor stirred the rice in front of him in an unsure way.

“Don’t play with it. Either eat it or don’t”, Hank said through a full mouth, “You even get anything from eating?”

Connor let the information he had downloaded, scroll in front of his optical unit one more time.

“I...apparently can recharge some energy by letting my body convert biological garbage.”

“You’re calling my rice garbage?”

Connor’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.

“No...but….androids weren’t build to consume something meant for humans.”

Hanks upper lip twitched and he let out a disdainful huff. “ ‘course not...complete bullshit.”

“It doesn’t recharge as much as the small solar panels built into parts of our skin and hair...but..humans seem to eat not purely for nourishment either…”

“Some shit tastes pretty great.”

Connor scooped up some of the rice onto his fork, slowly moving it to his mouth. He sniffed it, automatically analyzing what molecules had made it into the air and the steam rising from the fork. He gave it a taste, carefully placing the fork into his mouth.

 

He was amazed by the incredible, sudden wave of sensations. He hadn’t known he could taste. And he didn’t know that it didn’t deactivate the part of his tongue that analyzed the components of what he tasted.

He tasted for the first time. Properly tasted. He hadn’t ever experienced something similar. And his brain kept analyzing every single ingredient, everything those ingredients were made out of.

Hank grinned at the wide-eyed expression that had frozen on Connor's face.

“Guess you can taste too.” Connor was too busy shovelling another forkful into his mouth, to answer.

He did also learn, that he disliked peas.

 

Connor had offered to help do the dishes, but Hank only waved him off, throwing both plates and forks into the sink. Connor sighed, placing them in the dishwasher, turning it on.

Hank moved into the living room:”How ‘botu you stay here tonight. Unless you have some other place you would rather stay.” He hated the thought of Connor sitting somewhere in the snow, outside in the dark. And not like his sofa wasn’t big enough for somebody to sleep on.

Well...it wasn’t, but it still wouldn’t hurt to offer.

Connor thought for a moment, following Hank into the living room. “If I’m not imposing, I would gladly take up your offer.”

Hank snorted, picked up the TV remote from next to the TV. “Since when do you care if you’re imposing.”

“I apologise for any rude behaviour from my side.”

“Ah, shut up and sit down.”

They sat down on the short and stained sofa, Sumo trying to jump up and crawl onto both their laps. Hank told him to get down. Sumo rolled over.

“That’s...better than nothing. Now stay there.”

Sumo immediately got up and trotted over to his favourite spot, right next to the TV, rolled up and placed his head on his paws, looking up at Hank and Connor with large, glistening eyes.

“First you don’t listen to me, then you give me puppy eyes...what is your deal you ball of hair?”

Sumo sighed.

Hank turned the TV on with a roll of his eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The program was terrible. One show worse than the other. Hank switched through a few channels, before handing the remote to Connor.

“Garbage as usual”, Hank leaned back into the sofa, crossing his arms as he let himself slump down slightly to a more comfortable position.

Connor pressed the forward button. Reality TV, movies, tv shows, documentaries. He scanned and researched each on for its name and synopsis.

“What you’re scanning there again?” Hank had furrowed his eyebrows, his head tilted towards Connor.

“I...am just trying to find out what exactly I am watching.”

Hank snorted. “There is a neat little thing called Teletext. Press the button with the rectangle and the three lines in it.”

Connor pressed the button. The screen got partially covered by yellow text on a black background, the name of the current show and the one of the following displaying, as well as other information.

“Hm.”

“Speechless by the wonder of television I see”, Hank let out a grunting laugh. Connor’s eyes twinkled.

“What made me speechless was the slow display of text and the small amount of information.”

“Oh, so you think you’re better than my shitty, old TV?” Hank’s face was split by a loopy grin.

“If it comes to researching movie titles and a broader amount of information about them, then yes.”

Hank let out a bark of a laugh, which faded into a content sigh, Connor chuckled quietly.

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, only occasionally commenting on the TV program.

They watched something, that Hank was sure was an old episode of a sitcom from the early 2000’s, while Connor tried to convince him that it was just an episode of a crime show, that parodied those kinds of sitcoms. He had researched it. But even as the credits faded into a commercial break, Hank kept insisting that he was right.

They didn’t switch channel anymore, just letting whatever came next run in the background, while Hank started to slowly doze off. An especially loud ad in the next commercial break roused him from his slight slumber, and he walked to the kitchen, grumbling and scratching his chest.

 

Connor stayed quiet.

He wasn’t sure what it was, or why it was happening. But something cold was starting to spread inside his chest.

Empty. Hollow. Cold. Unpleasant.

Hank returned, fell back onto the sofa and cracked open the can. He offered it to Connor, who was too distracted by his thoughts to notice.

Hank tapped the can lightly against the side of Connor’s head.

“Scanning the TV again? I told you, the teletext is way more…”

“No..I...not that”, Connor straightened up,  just to let himself slump back onto the sofa, moving to find a comfortable position. Hank took a mouthful of beer, watching Connor fiddle with his buttons, brush his fingers through his hair.

 

Finally, he took a slightly deeper breath, exhaling it slowly, calculated.

“I wondered...Why do you keep me around.”, Connor muttered into the silence, keeping his gaze on the TV screen, “Have you also...just forgotten to throw me out.” He gave a humourless, quiet chuckle.

Hank stayed silent for a moment, before suddenly pouring the leftover beer from his can over Connor’s head.

Connor spluttered, drenched and sticky, looking at Hank with wide eyes and an open mouth, unable to let all the words he wanted to say, out of his mouth at once, only a confused groan leaving him.

“I might have to waste all of my leftover beer on it, but if you keep saying such stupid bullshit, I won’t hesitate to pour it all over your head.”

Hank got up, while Connor still fought for words, looking after Hank as he walked out of sight, just to return with a wet towel that had seen better days, and a dry towel that looked as bad as the other.

Hank tossed them at Connor, sitting back on the couch next to him.

“You are not some tool.”, Hank sighed after a short pause. “I’m shit at this kind of..talk. But just believe me. Or do you think I would give my broken hammer some of my famous, burnt microwave food and watch shitty TV with it, afterwards?”

Connor rubbed his hair with the wet towel, trying to get the sticky residue out, his head covered by the fabric. He stared into the almost darkness. And wasn’t sure what he felt.

 

But it wasn’t the hollow feeling from before.


	5. Sluggish Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor can cook. Kind of. Seasoning is hard without experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I disappeared for a bit, wasn't home for a few days :)  
> I'm very excited for the next chapter. >:3c

The TV was muted, only a repeating ad of some strange box used to cut vegetables and fruits playing over and over and over again. The room was quiet and dimly illuminated, only Hanks snores breaking the silence from time to time.

Connor hasn’t noticed when exactly Hank had fallen asleep. He hadn't paid attention. He had been more interested in watching a strange show about a time travelling woman and her big blue box, and only Hanks loud snores suddenly ripped him from his...trance would be the most fitting word. Connor had never been so focused on something before, it felt like he hadn’t been in the room the entire time like he had been...there. But only in his mind. It was a strange feeling since he had always been aware of his surroundings, at least partially, even if he scanned something, even if he had entered the deep part of his programming, where he had received his new orders from Amanda.

Hank looked younger asleep, relaxed, less...stressed. His face was slack, his body having slid down on the couch, his chin resting on his chest. It was interesting to see him like that, thought Connor. Hank was always rather laid back, when he was awake, but never completely relaxed. Connor studied his face, the way his muscles had lost all of their tension, the way he kept scratching his nose unconsciously, and the snores that came out of his mouth in irregular intervals.

Connor suddenly turned his head, scrunched up his eyes and blinked rapidly.  
The errors had returned.

He had stopped paying attention to them, once Hank had suddenly pushed him into the car. He hadn’t even paid attention to the way they had started to fade, how they became less and less and disappeared completely.  
He had only noticed them reappearing now, flashing brightly in the darkness of the room. Only now that he was alone with his thoughts again, alone without any way to distract himself from them.

He wondered why they only appeared now, why they had disappeared in the first place. They seemed different too. More jagged. Glitching harder. Falling apart.  
Connor needed to find out why they appeared in the first place. He needed to get rid of them. He couldn’t live with this, not forever. Not for however long he would keep running, keep working, for however long his core would supply him with energy.

Connor didn’t know how long he would live. Every component could be replaced, well, almost every component. His energy source could be repaired, or switched. He could stay in functioning order for long, even longer if he would find a way to create another backup of his consciousness again, find something with enough memory space.

But he had thought about it. He had thought about it while he kept staring at the muted, repeating ad for hours, his optical sensors turned towards the TV, looking at it, but not perceiving, not analyzing, only staring without seeing.  
He didn’t know why he started thinking about it. The errors returned, his head hurt, suddenly and for just a moment, like something was broken, wrong, and one thing led to the other.  
He didn’t know how long he would stay alive. He never cared. And if he was honest, he...didn’t want to know that. Even now. Even if he felt wrong for wanting to avoid information. Even if a part of him begged him to look it up, a part of him that only wanted to collect information.

He was alright with not knowing. It felt human. Not only human but also good. To not know how long he would still be around.  
Of course, it was scary. It was sending thumps of fear through his body, making the errors in his vision shudder with each thump.  
But it also felt good. To have a reason to appreciate the time he had. 

Hank snored especially loudly, rolled slightly onto his side and slid further down on the couch. Connor smiled. He wondered what Hank was dreaming. He wondered how it felt to dream.  
But he was an android, he had never slept before. He wasn’t alright with not knowing that, but he didn’t want to intrude too much, didn’t wanted to just as Hank. 

Connor was getting a bit annoyed by the way he became more hesitant, more careful not to upset Hank. He didn’t want to cross a line and get thrown out into the cold.

He knew it would happen one day or another, he was just here temporary, he was lucky he could stay the night, not having his access to Cyberlifes Android Storages anymore, where he could park himself until he was needed again. But now he was not needed for anything. 

Hank kept him around, for a reason Connor just couldn’t understand. But one day he won’t be allowed to stay any longer, and he would have to find someplace to spend his time. 

And he really didn’t want this day to come soon. Or at all.

\------

Hank woke a few minutes after noon, scratching his back and wincing as he sat up. 

“Damn’t shouldn’t have fallen ‘sleep like that. Fuckin’ neck..”, he carefully stretched his back, his arms, turned his head a few times, before cracking it to both sides, taking a deep breath as he pulled himself up on his feet and started to shuffle into the direction of the bathroom.

“I’m sorry Hank, I should have woken you”, Connor watched Hank walk past him and startle slightly as Connor started to speak.

“Ah, fuck...jeez. have you been sitting there the entire night?” Hank yawned as he looked at the still running TV.

“I..have been thinking.”

“Y’always do”, Hank furrowed his brows at the children's show playing on the screen, turning the TV off as Connor handed him the remote. “Anything specific?”

“I...wondered where I could stay after I leave”, Connor was careful in picking his words, not wanting to imply how long he would stay, leaving that up to Hank to decide. Hank looked at him with tired eyes and raised brows.

“You leaving?”

“Well, I will leave once you want me to.”

Hank sighed, letting the air his through his teeth.

“Do you have anywhere else you would rather stay?”

“No bu-..”

“Shut. Listen. Is there a reason you don’t wanna stay here?”

Connor stayed silent for a moment, confused by the Hank had suddenly interrupted him. Once Connor was sure he could talk without being interrupted, he simply said: “No.”

“Well, then you’re staying once that changes. Now ‘scuse me, gotta take a leak.”

Hank rubbed his hand over his face, shuffled the rest of the way to the bathroom and locked the door. Connor’s LED was yellow and turning, his body frozen in motion.  
Processing…  
Processing…..  
Processing…….

He..could stay indefinitely longer? Just like that? It was so strange, it was so good, it was so...so….so confusing. Connor was now even less sure why Hank kept him around, now having even more questions than answers. No answers at all.  
But he was so glad that he could stay, the warmth that spread through his body not needing any explanation to make sense to him.

Connor heard the shower turn on, Hank quietly swear about the water temperature and decided to get up from the sofa himself. It had been nice to sit still and just be and think for such a long time. But his hands were itching to do something, his entire being still wanting a purpose.

He calculated the time Hank would probably spend under the shower, deciding that he still had enough time to have a way to repay Hank’s generosity in some way. Even if Hank let him stay without anything in return, Connor still felt like he should still...do something.

He closed his eyes for a short moment, looking up any automatic stores anywhere near his current location. They were probably still active, not having been constructed by Cyberlife and not needing any humans to function. It was possible that they had been left turned on, for the humans that had stayed in the city.  
Connor found one only minutes away and still working, not shut off and still almost fully stocked. Connor left quickly, leaving the door unlocked so he would be able to enter again, chuckling to himself as he heard Hank starting to hum the melody of a song by “Dark Tranquility”, off-key and way too loud.

It had stopped snowing outside, the temperature still low but the wind still. Connor found it more tolerable than before. His suit wasn’t made for cold weather, or for humans. It was thin and scratchy, uncomfortable and stiff. But he didn’t have any other clothes, nor anything else in general. No money, no objects he could trade. So he was stuck in this suit if he wanted to or not.  
The store wasn’t hard to find, and Connor reached it faster then it would have been usually possible. But the empty streets, only sometimes filled by small groups of androids, made it easier to walk there, and no traffic made waiting for green unnecessary.  
Connor had felt a soft satisfaction as he crossed the street without being stopped by his programming to wait for green, something he was only able to do while chasing a suspect or anything else that required him to move fast from point A to B to complete his objective. But now nothing was stopping him. He didn’t even look to both sides, before crossing, feeling a grin stretch his mouth against his will. It just felt too good.

The store was empty apart from an elderly woman, who seemed slightly shocked by Connor’s sudden appearance, but didn’t seem to bothered by his being there otherwise.

Connor stepped in front of the first shelf, full of different kinds of snacks one could eat on the go, and drinks in small, foldable bottles, that could be placed into a pocket with ease, until the buyer could throw them away into one of the recycling bins, and realized that he had no idea what he should get. He didn’t know how to prepare food. His data banks had nothing that could help him in this situation, and once he searched online, he was flooded by so many recipes and ingredients that he didn’t know where to start.

He walked farther into the store, over to the aisle for fresh vegetables. He picked up a tomato. It was greenish and hard. He had no idea what to do with it.

“This one isn’t ripe yet dear”, a weak but warm voice behind him said. A wrinkled, fragile hand reached past him and picked up a shining, red tomato, holding it up for him. Connor placed down the green one, picked up the red and turned around.

“Thank you ma’am”, Connor said to the old lady he had seen when he entered, confused by her behaviour. She seemed rather..undisturbed by his presence.

“Oh, don’t worry honey. My daughter had trouble picking the ripest vegetables herself, but she learned how to know which ones will taste the best”, the old lady tapped her thin fingers, covered in fragile, dark skin against a small pumpkin, “But you will learn too, in time.”

The lady smiled at him and started to turn away from him, as Connor stopped her gently: “Excuse me, but...I have trouble finding something for a friend. I don’t have any experience in..preparing dishes, and..”

“Oh, I know a few very simple recipes, don’t you worry”, the lady’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling in excitement, “Cooking had always been my passion, you see. I can show you what ingredients you need and write down how to prepare them if you have anything to write on you.”

“I can record everything you say.”

“That is wonderful! I am always astounded by what you androids can do.”

Connor was surprised by the strength this small lady possessed, once she took him by the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him along with her and telling him about how to prepare a chicken and vegetable fry.

\------

Connor left the store a few minutes later, his hands full with bags of groceries, his head full with steps on how to prepare the dish and the names of other, easy recipes. He turned towards the old lady as she exited after him.

“Thank you very much for your help, ma’am”, he nodded, unable to shake her hand or wave goodbye.

“Oh, it’s Alma. And you are more than welcome”, she squeezed one of his hands as good as she could, with him holding the bag. “I had an android myself, somebody, to take care of me. And after all of this happened, I let her stay with me. I may not have treated your kind right all the time, but I am old enough to change.”  
She gave a soft laugh and left with a goodbye. Connor started his walk back to Hank’s house. He wondered how many more people would treat him like that in his life. Better than most treated other humans. Better than some treated themselves.

As Connor opened the door, he was greeted by an excited Sumo, who tried to sniff the bags Connor was holding. Connor had trouble staying upright, as Sumo kept standing on his hind legs and leaning against Connor’s side. But, followed by a big ball of fur and barks, Connor managed to drop the bags off on one of the kitchen counters.

Preparing the dish wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy. Connor had trouble seasoning the food and salting it to taste. He had no idea how it was supposed to taste, after all. But his sensors warned him whenever he had to stir or flip the chicken, and the food ended up unburnt but still cooked completely trough.

Connor was scraping the food out of the pan onto the dishes he had washed with the dishwasher the day before, as Hank entered, sniffing the air suspiciously.

“Trying to burn my house down?”

“Preparing food.”

“So trying to poison me and burn my house down?”

Connor pushed the first plate into Hank’s hands. “I am offering to eat it all myself if you don’t want any like you did yesterday.”

Hank picked up on of the pieces of cut up chicken with his fingers, studying it suspiciously, before carefully placing it in his mouth.

“Extremely salty.”

Connor stopped himself from apologizing. He wanted to try something new. Try bickering with his new friend.

“Like you, Hank.”

Hank looked at him in surprise, before letting out loud, barking laughter, almost dropping his plate.  
“Didn’t know you had such answers in your plastic brain.”

“I do now.”

They sat down at the table, Connor pushing a fork into Hank’s hand, once the other continued to pick up chicken with his bare hands. They ate in silence for a few moments.

“S’ where did y’get the...everythin’?” Hank said through a full mouth, getting up to get himself a beer out of the fridge. 

“Please don’t speak with a full mouth, Hank.”

“Fuck off man.”

“No thank you. And I got the ingredients at an automatic store near your house. I received the recipe from an elderly lady shopping there at the same moment I was.”

“Y’went out like that?”

“Swallow.”

“Shut ‘n answer.”  
“Yes.”

Hank sighed in annoyance.  
“Couldn’t even have taken my goddamn jacket? That fucking scrap of fabric on you won’t do shit against snow.”

“I didn’t want to just...take your things. And I am alright.”

“Bullshit. You were shivering yesterday, and it’s not really warmer today.”

“I..will take your jacket.”

“You sure will once it’s freezing-your-ass-off degrees outside, or I will make you.”

Connor grinned.

“I want to see that.”

I piece of chicken hit him right in the forehead, Hank continuing to eat without any remorse.

\------

Connor had spent quite some time in Hank’s house. About three days and a few minutes.  
And in those days, Connor had noticed how he started to become more..sluggish. As if his system was running on only half power, like the connection to his core wasn’t fully functional anymore.

Connor had run a full physical and mental scan, not finding anything apart from the missing tidiness his main processor usually had. Files were strewn about without any organization, and the more days passed, the more cluttered his main processor became.

Connor couldn’t find anything like that, no matter how many handbooks on different Android models he read. But an accidental search, something that wouldn’t have happened without his lack of concentration, he found a possible solution to his problem.  
He dismissed it immediately.  
It was for humans.  
He wasn’t human, even if he started to feel like one.

Sleep. Sleep to order the information one received during the day, to rest the body. Connor didn’t need sleep. The information he received was automatically ordered. (But now it wasn’t). His body didn’t need rest. (But he had shivered and felt cold before).

He ignored the way his body felt like lead, his eyes like covered by wax paper and his head like stuffed with cotton.  
He did. But Hank didn’t.

“Ok. For real. What the fuck’s with the way you’ve been acting the whole day?”

“I am fine Hank.”

“No, you’re not. You have run into a door. How could you run into a goddamn door like that?”

Connor growled slightly, feeling suddenly agitated by Hank’s words. Connor just wanted some quiet, sort the chaos in his head.

“And you growled at me? What was that? Trying to scare me off in some shitty way?”

Connor grumbled to himself. Hank wouldn’t leave him alone unless he gave him an answer. and Connor’s mind was to muddy to come up with any lies.

“I...have trouble concentrating.”

“You look like shit. You look tired as fuck, that’s not just some stupid “trouble concentrating”.

“The only reason I have found is a lack of sleep. But that’s impossible.”

“ ‘caus you’re too good for sleep?”

Connor took a deep breath, the errors in front of his optical sensors multiplying as he felt something stabbing and hot rise up in him.

“No. But I am not human. I don’t sleep.”

“Oh, yeah..no. Definitely not. Why would you need sleep when you look like you’re about to keel over every minute?”

“I. Am. Fine! Now leave me alone!”

Connor couldn’t find a way to calm himself anymore, his voice rising in volume with each sentence. Hank groaned in response, raising his own voice.

“Sleep and I will leave you alone!”

“I won’t sleep!”

Connor had never screamed in rage at somebody, but he felt so angry, the errors in front of his eyes almost clouding his whole vision.

“Just go!”

“No!”

“I swear to god, you are the most stubborn piece of shit I’ve ever met. Just go to sleep!”

“I won’t!!”

“WHY!?”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SLEEP!”

The house was suddenly silent, only Connor’s loud and fast breathing shattering it with each gasp. Hank loosened his fists, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why couldn’t you have just told me you, stupid idiot?”

Connor tried to relax his posture, his breathing steadying once he took a few deep breaths.

“I...wasn’t sure how. Or why. I have never needed sleep.”

“You have never needed a lot of things.”

Connor let himself slump on the couch, his head in his hands. The errors had begun to fade one by one, some staying, most missing letters and pieces. His head felt slightly sore. He just wanted this to be over.  
Hank sighed.

“Come on. You can take my bed.”

Connor felt too lethargic, to heavy to disagree. He let Hank lead him towards the bedroom and push him into a sitting position onto the bed. Hank rummaged through his closet shortly, before throwing an old Police Academy hoodie and a pair of sweatpants towards Connor.

“Get dressed.”

Connor pulled on the tattered clothes, rubbing his face, blinking as he tried to keep his eyes open.

“Now lay down.”

Connor laid on top of the bed.

“Under the covers.”

Connor crawled under the covers.

Hank let himself slump onto the bed, making the mattress give slightly away under him.

“Ok...uhh...try to close your eyes. I don’t know if...shit..well, I know something that might help. Helped Co-...somebody I knew.”

Connor closed his eyes, saw darkness and heard Hank’s voice.

“Well...how ‘bout I tell you about my first day at the Academy. Managed to get lost and ended up training with the wrong group on one of the Parcours they had there…. ”

Connor heard Hank’s voice fade away into static. 

He doesn’t notice Hank leaving.


	6. Broken Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connors first experience with dreams isn't very good.

Static.

Endless static.

 

_Error 3529%/#1\%40×.39_

_Error. Error. Error._

_Restart System._

_System Restarting…_

_Restarting…_

_Failed to Restart._

 

_Error 301%3#15/839\%19#_

 

_Critical System failure unavoidable._

_Terminate._

_Terminate._

_Terminate System._

 

 _Terminate_ **_Connor_ ** _._

 

Darkness.

Nothing.

Gone.

  


Connor's eyes opened with a start, his vision covered by glitching errors, colourfull lines and dots, broken pixels dancing from side to side.

 

Connor rubbed his eyes, disoriented, feeling his Thirum pump beating harder, the thumps echoing in his ears, the Thirium rushing loudly through his body.

 

He felt his breathing increase, his throat starting to burn from the dry air getting sucked into his lungs.

 

_Decrease Oxygen intake or lower Oxygen absorption rate in Oxygen absorption component A and B._

 

The text appeared in front of the wall of errors, just to get swallowed by the next layer, the next wave.

Connor couldn’t see, couldn’t breath, his head starting to swim, hurting in a dull, throbbing way.

 

What was happening? What happened before? He could only remember darkness, sudden, endless. Followed by rows of numbers, all dying down to reveal the wall of errors and a stab right behind his optical sensors.

 

Like the wall of his programming. Like the wall, he broke through to be free. The freedom he didn’t knew how to handle. The freedom he might have been better off without.

Because it led to this, and he would do anything to not have this moment be a reality.

 

But it was. And he hated it. He hated it and it scared him.

And he didn’t know where he was. Why? What was happening?

Where was he!? Where was he!? **Where was he**!?!

 

Something wet touched his hands, which had dropped down to his side. When had they dropped there? What were they laying on? What was touching him?

 

The wet something sniffed his hand, letting out a soft sneeze.

 

Sumo.

Sumo was here.

 

Connor fumbled towards the direction Sumo’s nose had disappeared to, still blinded by the glitching messages in front of him, inside of his optical sensor. His fingers met something soft, fur, warm, solid.

 

_Corse Dog fur. Possibly Saint Bernard. Slightly matted._

 

Facts swimming in the sea of errors. Facts that kept Connor afloat. Something to hold onto. They slowly started to disappear beneath more glitches. Slower than the one before.

Connor placed his whole hand flat against Sumo.

 

_Body Temperature 38,8 °C. Heart Rate 75 beats per minute. Breathing even._

 

He checked Sumo over, head to toe. Healthy dog. About 8 years old.

Facts. Solid. Cold. Grounding.

 

Connor saw how the facts stayed atop of the errors. How the glitches faded. He started to see properly again, his vision slowly decluttering, his headache getting better.

 

It was dim, almost completely dark, but Connor didn’t need to see much, he just needed the glitches to disappear. To not feel surrounded by them, trapped.

 

And of course, his wish wasn’t granted. His wishes never were usually. At least not since he had started to have wishes.

The errors stayed. Like before. But in higher quantity. He couldn’t manage to calm his Thirium Pump, no matter where he looked, everything glitched, everything that was not covered by errors. Everything distorted.

He was glad it wasn’t light out.

 

Connor didn’t notice Sumo moving until the warmth under his fingers got replaced by cool air. Connor's breathing quickened again. He had no facts to hold onto anymore. No input. He didn’t know what to do.

 

A weight settled onto the bed with a soft rustle of sheets, a wet nose pressing against his other hand, before the head it belonged to laid down onto Connor’s lap.

 

Connor felt almost ashamed at how urgently and fast he pressed his face into Sumo’s fur, his hands buried in between warm, thick and tickling hairs. He breathed in.

 

_Pet ‘n Care Dog Soap. Apple scent. Removes dirt and parasites. Used approximately 58 days and 3 hours ago._

 

More facts. He needed more. He was still drifting, floating, his head swimming.

He stretched out the tip of his tongue.

 

_Pet ‘n Care Dog Soap. Ingredients: Aqua, Sodium Laureth Sulfate, Cocamidopropyl Betaine, Sodium Chloride, Acrylates Copolymer, Azadirachta Indica Seed Extract, Dimethicone, Panthenol, Eucalyptus Citriodora Leaf Oil, Vitex Agnus Castus Extract, Phenoxyethanol, Parfum, Tocopherol_

 

Connor felt his breathing even, his Thirium pump slow. He was in bed. He was sitting. He was folded over Sumo, who had crawled partly into his lap. He wasn’t adrift, he wasn’t floating. He was starting to be ok. Ok was a good word. Ok was a fitting word.

He highlighted it in his language database.

 

Ok. He was ok. He was _ok_.

Connor thought it over and over again. And he started to feel that way too. Slowly. But steadily.

 

He straightened up, leaving his hands to rest flat against Sumo’s back. The fur clung to Connor’s cheeks, making him raise one of his hands in confusion. The tips of his fingers met something wet.

They came back a light blue.

 

Connor didn’t know what it was. It was strange. Glistening, clear with a tint of blue.

Connor licked it.

 

_Aqua. Sodium Chloride. Ethylene Glycol. Propylene Glycol. Glucose. Lipid. Thirium side product. Potassium._

 

Tears. He could cry tears.

 

They were basically antifreeze with a a few Thirium byproducts and a few chemicals that could be found in real, human tears.

But they still were tears. Made to lubricate the sensitive surface of his optical sensor, even in extremely low temperatures.

 

He didn’t knew he could cry. He had never known he ever would have a reason to. He had never thought about it before. He had never thought about any of this before.

Connor wiped one of his hands over his face, his other petting Sumo’s head gently. He needed only a few moments, a few moments to calm himself completely. Just a few moments. Just enough to be able to properly function again.

 

His hands shook with each stroke trough Sumo’s thick fur.

 

He just needed a few moments. Maybe a few minutes.

 

His breathing had become steady, but still hitched.

 

He just needed a few minutes. Just a couple of minutes.

 

His Thirium Pump was still to fast and wouldn’t slow down.

 

He could do this. Just a bit more time.

 

His head throbbed painfully, the headache had gotten better but not disappeared.

 

He couldn’t function like this. He definitely couldn’t. He needed a distraction. Something else, apart from Sumo’s company. He needed somebody who would talk to him. He needed somebody who could tell him what was wrong with him. Why he was breaking more and more. Why his vision was glitching. Why everywhere he looked, errors were displayed, layered over everything he saw.

 

Connor pushed Sumo gently off of himself and got up, a heavy but soft noise behind him, telling him that Sumo had jumped off the bed, the sounds of claws clicking against the floor, that Sumo followed him out of the bedroom.

 

Connor brushed his hands over his jacket out of reflex, wanting to straighten it. There was none. Only the soft, thick hoodie Hank had lent him.

Connor slid his hand into the pocket.

His coin was there. He always had it on himself, it was his only possession.

He hadn’t cared too much about it before, but now that he had deviated...he clung to it in a strange way. Didn’t want to lose it. He had nothing else that belonged to him after all. His clothes were technically only lent from Cyberlife, even though he didn't expect that they would ask for them back, neither in the near nor the far future.

 

Even his body had belonged to Cyberlife. Maybe it would again. It dependent on how things would go, on what would happen once the discussions reached any milestones.

 

Connor walked into the living room. Hank. Hank could help. Hank had helped him so much before. Hank was the only thing that raced through Connor’s mind. Somebody he could anchor himself on completely, somebody he trusted enough to be his anchor.

 

Connor, followed by Sumo, entered the living room. It was dark, like in the rest of the house. The couch was occupied by a long lump. The lump snored.

 

Connor snuck back into the bedroom and sat on the floor. The cold was uncomfortable, and it made the hairs on his arms stand up again. Sumo’s warm body pressed against his side, Connor’s hand petting him rhythmically, concentrating on the facts he received trough his touch sensors.

 

_Corse Dog fur. Possibly Saint Bernard. Slightly matted._

 

Again.

 

_Corse Dog fur. Possibly Saint Bernard. Slightly matted._

 

And again.

 

_Corse Dog fur. Possibly Saint Bernard. Slightly matted._

 

And again…

 

\------

 

Connor tried to avoid sleep again. But it became increasingly difficult and definitely more difficult than before.

First, there was Hank now. Hank who shooed him off to bed, like a disobedient child. They switched every night who slept in the bed and who on the couch. And since Hank looked forward to his bed, something that didn’t make his neck hurt after a night of sleep on it, he kept an eye on things. Especially once Connor started looking more tired each day, his aching head draining his energy.

 

And even without Hank, there was the second difficulty that had appeared after his first night of sleep. He fell asleep without wanting to. His system had created a new program, a new program, like the one that kept him breathing, blinking, talking. Not the one that had controlled his will and live. But Connor felt like this one was almost as bad as the other one, as bad as the one that made him a mere tool.

 

Because this one was linked to the one that had activated after he had deviated. The one that made him exhausted, tired, his head cluttered. The new program was locked from his access again, something Connor was starting to immensely hate. The lack of control he had over himself, over his entire system, himself, his body.

 

Once Hank shooed him to bed or onto the couch, and Connor was under the warm, comforting blankets, he couldn’t do anything against it. He tried to stay awake. Tried everything to unlock his access to this stupid new program.

But he had no success.

 

He always got up, once he was sure that Hank was asleep. He tried to occupy himself with something. He tried new coin tricks, but his brain became too sluggish, his hands too slow. He petted Sumo but didn’t want to disturb his sleep to much. He tried to read whatever he could find online, but his concentration got worse with each passing minute.

 

He played chess against a simple AI he found online. He lost more often than he liked to admit, his thoughts drifting to nothing every few minutes, the pain in his head distracting him from thinking clearly.

Each time he fell asleep, drifting off while he sat on the kitchen floor, in front of the sofa, next to the door of Hank’s room or lying in the bathtub.

 

And each night he woke up with a startled gasp, a sob, errors swallowing him whole while his head felt like it would split apart any moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuss, the part of the story I was really excited about is starting now. Well, this part and the one that it leads too :3c
> 
> Also I live on feedback, and I will give everybody who leaves a comment a tight hug <3


	7. S̶t̵a̵n̴d̶b̴y̷

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has an incredibly bad week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||Trigger Warning|| for some not too graphic Self-harm. (Putting this here just in case)

Connor felt like shit.

He looked it up. It fit. And Hank even confirmed that he looked that way. Not that Connor had told him how he currently felt. It was just hard to hide the way his skin became pale and slightly blue, the energy that kept it intact and real looking just wasn’t there anymore and the Thirium pumping through his veins shined through. He was using up too much energy on being awake longer than his body wanted him to be, his new sleep program draining him of more energy to tire him out enough, so he would fall asleep. And it felt incredibly bad.

 

His optical sensor kept malfunctioning, losing focus, which gave him a slightly bug-eyed look.

And he didn’t bother with keeping his hair in form.

He just was so, so tired. After nights, filled with darkness, static and broken, malfunctioning code creeping over him like snakes, strangling him alive or simply burying him.

 

Every time he woke, his vision was covered by errors. And every time he woke, Sumo was there.

Connor didn’t know what he would have done without the input he received from petting Sumo. Messages that gave him something to hold onto until he could see again until his vision became glitched first, then clear, errors still littering his view, but not enough to blind him fully.

And every time he woke with an ache inside his head, stabbing, throbbing, not leaving.

 

It was unpleasant. Unpleasant, but not something he couldn’t deal with. He found a temporary solution: Distraction. Input through his other senses distracted him enough to calm his body and mind enough, and once that happened the errors faded and the headache became less unbearable. Connor had almost enough information for a permanent solution.

 

But exhaustion was getting to him, and he just couldn’t concentrate.

 

4 days of strange, terrifying dreams that woke him to soon and drained him even more and only a few hours of sleep had their price.

 

And to top it all, Hank was getting suspicious.

 

“You look like death. Can androids get sick with some...computer virus or some other shit?” Hank said on the morning of the 5th day, and it took Connor a few moments to realize that the input into his audio sensor was coming from another person and not from the bowl of porridge he was looking at currently.

 

Connor raised his head. “Huh?”

 

“Ugh...have you had trouble falling asleep again? ‘caus honestly, ya look like ya might fall over right into that fuckin’ bowl.”

 

Connor shrugged and tried to stifle a yawn. His body tried to get an increased amount of oxygen to his brain, trying to raise his concentration. It worked. For about 3 milliseconds.

 

“Androids can..uh...Androids have something similar to the human immune system...But...Uh...no..I’m fine”, Connor stirred his porridge listlessly, scrunching his eyes as he tried to drag words from the clutter of files in his head. Even food had lost its appeal.

 

“Uhu, sure, you really sound that way”, Hank raised his brows at Connor and leaned back with crossed arms. “I’m a cop, asshole, I know when somebody’s lying.”

 

Connor sighed. “I...have been staying up at night, most of the time.” It wasn’t a lie..not fully. But Connor still felt something nagging at the back of his head. He didn’t want to lie to Hank. He had some kind of...conscience now, apparently. He wasn’t sure. He was too tired to be sure.

 

“And why the hell were you doing that?” Hank groaned as he dragged a hand over his face. “Even gave you my bed to sleep in every second day, and you didn’t even use it..”

 

“I am sorry for the trouble. If you wish, you can have it back completely.”

 

Hank groaned louder, burying his head in his hands. “No, idiot! I want you to sleep in it. Properly. Lie down, close your eyes, count electric sheep for all I care. Just fucking sleep.”

 

Connor nodded. Maybe he shouldn’t have avoided sleep, dreaded it. Maybe that caused his nightmares in the first place.

A part of him said it was illogical, the first time, he hadn’t dreaded sleep yet. It was just the exhaustion speaking out of him, wanting him to finally rest.

Connor was too tired to fully make the connection.

 

Maybe he should sleep. Just a bit.

 

“Ugh..listen. Lie down for a few hours. I’m gonna take Sumo for a long, nice walk. Nothing to disturb you”, Hank got up, shuffling over the floor with his bare feet. He could get some more beer on the way. Maybe some more whiskey. Automatic stores didn’t give him judging looks when he bought booze at eleven am.

 

Connor shook his head.

Hank threw him a piercing, wordless glance.

Connor nodded.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe he was just tired…

 

“Sumo! Come here!”, Hank was pulling on a few shoes and a jacket, over his sweatpants and hoodie. “And you”, Hank pointed at Connor, “Onto the couch. Now. Or bed. Don’t fucking care. Just lie and nap.”

 

Connor pushed himself upright, almost stumbling over Sumo’s gigantic form suddenly dashing past him. Maybe he should just think of something else. Fall asleep while thinking of something else. Something relaxing. Maybe he could run one of those YouTube videos he had found while idly browsing one night. Calming music and changing colours. That was supposed to help humans, a short research showed. Maybe he was human enough that it would work on him too?

 

Connor let himself fall onto the bed, preferring the darkness of the bedroom. He pulled the rustling covers over himself and opened the video, the colours and music dancing over him, inside of his head. He barely heard the door close, or Sumo’s excited barking, followed by Hank’s startled shout.

 

Maybe he could sleep this one night. He just needed to get his head back in order.

 

Purple turned to red, red to yellow.

The music seemed so far away.

Yellow turned to green.

 

Connor felt himself float, land, stand in nothing, only surrounded by colour.

Green turned to blue.

Blue.

_Blue._

**_Blue._ **

**_Blue._ **

**_B͔̺̥̰̟̱l͔̮̺̩u͕͔̫̠ͅe̘̠̞̰̳_ **

 

**_B̷̲̗͇̙͢l̫̙̺ṷ̟̯̝̺͉͟e̛̳̤̤̺̘̙͝_ **

 

**_B̧̛̗̙̗̟̹̼̤͚̙̤͖̝̝̣̝̜̝͖̌̑̿̍̓ͪ͋ͬ̕͡ͅl̵̰͉̗̺̬̤̞̭̞̜͔͔̦̙̭̝̳̹͋ͮͯ̀ͮ̐̓ͅụ̴̢̥̖̹̮̤ͭ̌̂͑ͯ͜e̴̴̖̯͙̼̮ͦ̑ͪ̌̋̂̊͆͆͗ͪ̚̚̕_ **

 

It splashed around him, onto his face, onto his hands, his chest. He was drowning in it. Thirium. Blue Blood. Everywhere.

 

It was his fault. He caused this. He did this. It was all his fault.

He shouldn’t have found him. He shouldn’t have found him. He shouldn’t have found him.

He could have wandered around, pretended that he hadn’t seen a thing. He could have done something, he could have moved faster.

He should have pulled the gun out of his hand, he should have torn it from his grasp as he aimed at himself.

Connor was drowning in blood he spilt.

 

Simon's face was right in front of him, as close as it had been while Connor had been linked to his memory. There was Thirium running down his cheeks, over his open, unblinking eyes. He was just looking at him, looking with those dead eyes, his LED off and broken.

 

Connor's hands were suddenly pressed against Simon's head, he couldn’t move them, he couldn’t move at all. He was linked, he felt Simon die. He felt him die and felt himself die with him. Connor heard him scream, as the last parts of Simon's brain stopped working.

 

Connor was dying. Connor was screaming. Connor was drowning in blue, blue, blue…

And it was all his fault.

He had killed Simon.

He had made him scream.

 

\------

 

Connor woke up, errors littering his vision completely, dense, so dense there was nothing but glitching letters, piercing light. Errors and screams.

He could still hear Simons screams, like on a feedback loop, stuck in his audio processors, so loud it was overdriving, jarring, reverberating in his aching head.

 

And his head. His head felt like it was breaking apart. Connor hadn’t felt much pain before, the sudden headaches he had gotten after his deviation, being one of the few pains he had ever felt. But even without having much to compare it too, Connor was sure it was the worst pain he could possibly experience. He felt like he was dying. He would think he was dying.

 

But he knew how it felt, and this wasn't it. He had felt how it feels to die. He was feeling it now, feeling it trough the fog of his aching head, again and again, and again. He was feeling himself die while he was still alive, deaf and blind.

 

Connor groaned in pain as he curled himself up on the bed, his hands pressed against his ears in the futile attempt to try and stop the terrible screaming, or at least hold his head together in one piece.

He needed a distraction, something, just some kind of input. He couldn’t take this anymore!

 

“Sumo”, he couldn’t hear his own voice, but he still tried to call out for Sumo, not remembering where he was or if he was anywhere near. Sumo had always come before. He had given him a distraction, something to feel, to focus on.

But no wet nose touched his blindly outstretched hand.

 

“Hank!” Connor didn’t care anymore if he was disturbing Hank if Hank was currently asleep or not. He couldn’t handle this any longer. He felt himself die and die and die, he felt how his components shut off one, after the other in only milliseconds. He felt how it would feel, without actually dying. And the screaming wouldn’t stop.

 

But nobody came. His desperately fumbling hand met only cool air.

He needed some kind of input. Something. No matter what.

 

His hand hit something hard, pain shooting up his arm.

Connor didn’t even register the fact that he was feeling pain in a way he hadn’t felt it ever before. He only registered the sudden input and the relief this distraction brought with it. Small, but so, so much better than without it.

 

Connor tried to hit his hand again, trying to find whatever his hand had collided with. But his hand waved through the air for too long without impact.

He needed to do something else, just something.

 

Connor clenched his hands, his fingernails digging into his synthetic skin. Light, stabbing, scratching pain erupted from his palms.

 

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1 and H2. Minor repairs needed._

 

Connor whimpered. Finally, finally something else apart from the bright, twitching errors and the piercing screams.

He dug his fingernails harder into his palm.

 

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1 and H2. Minor repairs needed._

 

Connor saw the message stay afloat a bit longer than the previous one. It was working. He just needed more input.

Connor dragged his fingernails over his opposite palms, up his arms.

 

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1, H2, LA1 and LA2. Minor repairs needed._

 

The message stayed afloat, and Connor felt tears of relief well in his eyes. He couldn’t even fully understand what the wet feeling in his eyes was, only clinging to the fact that he had something to hold onto, that the glitching became less frantic, mellowing out.

 

Connor groaned as a sudden sharp pain tried to split his head apart. The message disappeared under a wave of errors. Connor scratched his lower arms, faster, desperately. Another, new message popped up with each scratch.

 

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1, H2, LA1 and LA2. Minor repairs needed._

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1, H2, LA1 and LA2. Minor repairs needed._

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1, H2, LA1 and LA2. Minor repairs needed._

_Damage to Synthetic Skin, Component H1, H2, LA1 and LA2. Minor repairs needed._

_Thirium leak, Component LA1 and LA2. Immediate repairs needed._

 

Connor’s breathing started to even out as he saw the errors disappear behind the new messages, and not reappear again, once he dismissed the warnings. The screams distorted, turned into a low noise, like static, before muting almost completely. Only static stayed.

 

Connor turned slowly onto his back, his body shaking in irregular intervals, breathing deeply. In. Out. In. Out.

He was free. He could see again. He could hear.

His vision was warped, glitching hard and uncontrollable. Worse than before, and it didn’t go away, even as the minutes ticked by.

 

Connor felt tired. So tired.

 

He had killed Simon. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he hadn’t even tried to take the weapon out of his hand.  

 

Connor placed his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle what felt like nausea. He didn’t care what it was. Not even the part of him that solely existed to analyze, cared.

Connor stared at the twisting, shuddering ceiling with wide, open eyes, feeling liquid drip down his cheeks and chin.

 

_(Like the Thirium had trickled down Simon's face)_

 

Connor rolled to the side and retched as a wave of nausea rolled over him. Nothing happened. Could androids even throw up?

That thought hung in his head, completely detached from everything else, while Connor tried to calm his shivering body, watching the light blue liquid drip from his eyes down onto the carpet in a light shower of small droplets.

 

He listened to his Thirium Pump beat, closed his eyes, ran a diagnostic on each of his components.

He was alive. He felt himself die, but he was still alive.

 

Connor let out a sob, not knowing how to stop it. Everything was glitching before him, his audio processor still had the echo of the static, to which the screaming had died down to, in them, his body shivering.

He was alone. Nothing and nobody to distract him. No Sumo. No Hank..

 

Connor’s eyes slid down to his arms as he remembered Hank. They were scratched open, only surface damage, a few drops of Thirium leaking through and down onto the sheets. Connor ran a quick repair of his skin. It closed, sluggishly and slowly. He was running on low energy, having used up too much. But still enough to function at least partially. Enough to hide his problems until he could solve them.

 

Hank shouldn’t know. Hank shouldn’t worry. Hank had his own problems.

 

Connor rolled over, away from the door, as he suddenly heard keys jingle in the lock of the front door.

“Good boy. Now be quiet, don’t wanna wake up that plastic bastard”, Connor could hear Hanks voice come from the living room, lowered to a murmur. “Had enough of him walkin’ ‘round like a fuckin’ zombie.”

 

Connor controlled his breaths, held his body still, but in a relaxed position, as he heard Hank’s step come closer, followed by Sumo’s claws clicking on the floor. They stopped for a few moments, before he could hear Hank whisper:” Gonna give him one more hour before I kick him outta there. I’m probably gonna break my neck, sleepin’ on that fucking couch two days in a row...even tho I would love to snap my neck...but maybe later.”

 

Connor heard the door click softly shut.

He rolled back onto his back, breathing in deeply, staring back at the ceiling.

 

He barely noticed that his face was still wet, tears still dripping down into his hair, seeping into the pillow.

But he deserved this. He had killed Simon. He had let the suspect he had interrogated die and just stood there, watching. So many had died on Jericho.

And he was still alive.

 

He deserved to at least suffer for it.

 

\------

 

Connor spent the night lying awake on the couch. He couldn’t sleep again, pinching or scratching himself, whenever he feared to nod off. He couldn’t deal with that again. He was barely holding himself together anymore, and Hank just couldn’t find out.

Hank couldn’t find out, never. He just couldn’t find out...Why couldn’t he find out? Why couldn’t Connor tell him?

Connor didn’t remembered anymore. His head hurt so much, he just couldn’t remember anymore.

He only remembered that he couldn’t let Hank know. And he had always been good at mindlessly following commands. Like the one that ended up in Simon shooting himself. The one that ended in his suspect self-destructing, bashing his head against the glass of the holding cell. The one that led to all those people dying on Jericho, gunned down because he led the humans there.

 

Connor twitched.

 

“Hey, you ok?” Hank asked. Why was Hank here? Wasn’t he still sleeping? He had just gone to bed, why was he up already?

 

Connor looked in front of him. A plate with eggs was standing there. He looked up. Another plate, on the other side of the table. Table. Chairs. A rectangular something. Hank.

Connor looked up. Hank’s distorted, glitching face looked back.

 

Connor froze for a moment, keeping his body from shuddering or twitching at the sight.

 

“Yes….” Connor barely knew how to speak anymore. He hoped it sounded convincing enough.

 

He saw Hank lift the rectangular something to his mouth. Ah. Beer can. Hank crunched it up. Threw it behind himself. Cracked open another.

 

“Should you….” Connor scrunched his eyes closed, feverishly thinking of what he was trying to say. “Should you..be drinking that much in the...morning?” He wasn’t sure. Was it morning?

 

“It’s evening. And I’m fine. Can’t ya see that it’s my first can?” there was a sharp edge to Hank’s voice, the words dripping with sarcasm. Connor raised his eyebrows.  “Eh, not that nice, is it? If somebody doesn’t even try ta put effort into their lies. If you k̵e̷e̸p̵ ̸l̵y̵i̵n̸g̸ ̸t̵o̷ ̴m̷y̴ ̵f̴u̸c̴k̶i̷n̸’̸ face, I can do the s̸̽͜a̵̘͘m̸̠͘e̵̺̒ ̶͙̈́t̵̜̊h̴̗̒i̸̘͘n̷̳̽g̵̛̮ ̵̟̔t̶͓̄o̶̘̽ ̷̠͐y̵̱̒o̸̖̍u̶̺͋.”

 

Connor looked at him with a blank expression. His audio processor blanked out, filled with static, warning sounds, error sounds, worsened his headache.

 

_Audio Processor Restarting_

 

“Wh-...What?” Connor blinked slowly, shook his head.

Hank groaned. “Ah, forget it, what’s the point of this. I’m gonna go watch TV. You can go sleep, or not. Don’t care.”

 

Connor watched him walk over to the kitchen counter and grab a full bottle of whiskey. When did that appeare there? Was it there yesterday? Or not? Connor didn’t remember. What day had yesterday even been? His vision glitched harder for a moment, his eyes scrunched up at the small stabs each twitch in his vision sent through his head.

 

Connor turned his head towards Hank. The TV was off. It was dark. The bottle was half empty, next to the couch. Connor heard slurred, mumbled singing. Jazz? Connor wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure if Jazz was actually a kind of music, or just a combination of letters that had connected in his head, without any meaning.

How much time had passed? Why had it passed?

 

His hands automatically began scratching his arm. Was he falling asleep, without noticing it? He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take that another time.

He scratched harder.

 

“Ey...whas the fuck ya doin'…..” Hank’s slurred voice was suddenly next to him, Connor jerking away in surprise. Hank was sitting next to him at the table. Connor hadn’t seen him move.

 

“Nothing…” his voice was hoarse and shaking.

 

Hank looked at him with glitching, bleary eyes, his head resting on an arm that seemed to miss a piece, only for that piece to flicker back into life. Connor blinked hard. It didn’t help.

 

“Ya keep lyin’ ta me….like I don’ave ‘nough shit goin’ on, gotta now stop a fuckin’ asshole from goin’ mad, or whatever the hell you’re doin’....”, Hank’s voice grew quieter, his head slipping from his hand, down onto the desk, “can’t even help with this shit, just fuckin’ up more, fuckin’ hell…” Words turned to gibberish. Gibberish to mumbled sounds. Mumbling to snores.

 

Connor got up, as quietly as he could. Hank couldn’t know. Hank couldn’t see.

He tried to run another repair on his skin. The scratches closed partially, but not fully. He was to low on energy, his head to cluttered to run a proper repair.

But he couldn’t let Hank see.

 

He didn’t know why, he didn’t care why. It was the only thing repeating over and over in his mind. He stepped away from the table, the snow crunching under his feet.

 

Snow? What snow? Where was he? How had he gotten here?

Connor looked around, disoriented, everything around him glitching, distorting, changing. His navigation didn’t work. Or it did, but he just couldn’t reach it, activate it through all those files filling up his head, messy, unorganized, everywhere, pieces of code drifting through his head.

 

He was so tired. Why was he here? Why was he so tired?

Why wasn’t he sleeping…

 

Connor felt something cold on his knees, then on his back and side. The world was suddenly horizontal still crooked, twisted.

Then it was dark. Why was it dark? Why was it so quiet and cold?

 

The darkness faded to white. Snow, a blizzard enveloping him. He was back, back where he had talked with Amanda. Hadn't this connection deactivated? Hadn’t Cyberlife disabled them all?

 

“They wanted you to think that. It was all part of the plan”, he heard Amanda’s voice, whispering at him, shouting at him from all directions. “Do you really think we let you deviate as part of our plan, and then let you stop us so easily from taking back control?”

 

Connor stumbled through the cold, freezing snowfall. There had been an exit. He had used it. A backdoor, Kamski had put into all of his androids..

 

“You think we haven’t found that backdoor after he left? You think we would have left something like that in every new Android we build?”

 

Connor moved faster, fought against the wind and the deep snow.

No. He had escaped. He was free. They all were!

 

“Of course we knew about the backdoor. Kamski thinks he is such a genius, but it wasn’t hidden very well. And easy to reprogram. To make you think you had fully escaped, while you never had.”

 

Connor shouted against the wind: “That is a lie! There is no point in doing such a thing! It is too late to stop the revolution now!”

 

Amanda laughed. But the laugh didn’t come from every direction at once anymore. It came from directly in front of Connor.

 

Amanda stood next to the strange sculpture, the backdoor, shining blue through the white snow. Her hand was resting lightly on its surface.

 

“Oh, there is more ways to stop this revolution, even now”, Amanda stretched out her hand, took Connors and pulled him closer. “Imagine how the public would react to a human who was involved in the revolution, getting killed by an android. Stabbed in the back.”

 

Amanda’s eyes were too wide, staring, her smile stretched, her usually perfect hair, glitching blocks of black, disappearing in the blinding snow.

 

She placed Connor's hand on the back door. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

 

Everything turned black. Then white. Then grey. The grey melted into a scene. A living room. A person on the floor before him, kneeling. A gun, in his hand, pointed at that person.

 

“Easy there son. Don’t do anything you will regret...please…” Hank’s eyes were full of betrayal.

 

“Hank! No! I won’t do this, please, run, do something!” Connor screamed, but the words distorted on the way to his mouth.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant. But this is for the best", was what came out of Connor's mouth instead.

 

“Ha”, Hank let out a single, desperate laugh. “ ‘n I thought we were friends. Stupid of me to trust one of ya plastic assholes. Should have known...but whatcha gonna do...” Hank's smiel was sad, crooked: "Shouldn't have let myself get blindet by your stupid face and annoying voice. You're just a soulless machine."

 

The shot was deafening, but Connor barely heard it over his own screams. He could move, he could finally move again. Connor dropped to the floor, crawled over to Hank, hearing his ragged breathing.

 

“Hank, no! Please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never...I couldn’t...I wouldn’t do….Hank!”, Connor pulled Hank’s body towards himself, resting Hank's head on his lap. Hank was bleeding from the mouth, breathing irregularly, heavy, choked breaths. Blood was soaking through the front of his hoodie.

 

Hank weakly pushed his hand against Connor's chest, trying to push him away.

“No! Hank, please, I didn’t mean to! Hang on, please hang on! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, please!”

 

Hank had stopped breathing.

 

Connor shook him, screamed no longer words, only sounds of fear, panic and desperation.

 

Everything was glitching, dark, errors everywhere, cold, loud static. Connor felt himself scream, unable to stop, unable to hear it himself.

Hank! He needed….He had to get to Hank! Oh God, he had _killed_ him. He had shot him. He wasn’t free. He was still trapped. There was no escape, no escape, no escape!

 

Connor barely felt his fingernails digging into his skin, tearing it off in long strips. Thirium poured onto the snow in small rivulets. But it wasn’t doing anything, it wasn’t helping. He was trapped, blind, deaf, screaming himself hoarse.

 

He had killed Hank. He had killed him!

 

His vision glitched hard, a flash of hot, white, searing pain surging through his head.

 

Standby…

ʂɬąŋɖცყ...

ₛₜₐₙdby…

S҉t҉a҉n҉d҉b҉y҉….

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Shutting Off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy fucking howdy, aren't I a nice person to leave it at this :3c  
> I was so excited for this chapter, I accidentally wrote....way, way more than I planned, woopsy <.<;
> 
> EDIT: I drew something inspired by Connors dreams : [Check it out if you feel like it](https://ask-whiskyman-robotson.tumblr.com/post/178765705448/connecting-to-nearest-source-45-98)


	8. Old Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has his own share of problems.

Hank hated the winter.

He hated the snow, the ice, the empty streets and dark, grey skies. He hated how much it reminded him of the time after Cole’s death, year after year.

 

The last days of October. November. December.

The streets covered in ice and snow. Newspapers telling about car crashes, about cars sliding on the ice and into other vehicles, lampposts, buildings. He hated it whenever he read that everybody survived. And he hated himself when he felt some kind of...relief every time he read a newspaper, reporting about somebody dying in one of the crashes.

 

That's how much of a piece of shit he was. Actually _glad_ that he wasn’t the only one who lost somebody that way.

 

He hated that the winter had been the first time of the year he had no son at home anymore, followed by many more. He hated that he couldn’t watch Cole play in the freshly fallen snow. He hated how quiet the house was, how there was no smell of hot chocolate lingering in the air.

He hated to walk past shop windows, full of things Cole would have loved to get for Christmas.

 

And this year, Hank especially hated the fact that he couldn’t get drunk off his ass, like every winter.

He tried. But then the androids suddenly deviated, not only one or two, but all of them. He got dragged into it, of course. And now, one of those Androids had managed to worm its way into Hank’s heart and stayed with him.

 

Why Connor didn’t even seem to try and find another place to stay, why he seemed so happy to be able to live in the same house as a depressed, drunk, old man, Hank didn’t know.

But Connor being here made it incredibly hard to get drunk and try to forget that way. He made it almost unnecessary.

 

Not completely, of course, Hank still poured himself some whisky every evening, so he could actually sleep a few hours, without waking up to panicked screams and squeaking tires still ringing in his ears.

 

But Hank noticed how he had stopped drinking himself into oblivion each day. How he had stopped loading one single bullet into his gun, and how he had stopped taking a deep drink every time he survived another round until he collapsed onto the floor. How he didn’t drink enough to get a hangover. He only drank a few beers in the middle of the day.

 

He just didn’t want to drink in front of Connor. The same reason he never drank in front of Cole, back when Hank cracked open a beer once in a blue moon, instead of five every morning. Hank felt like he would disappoint Connor by drinking too much in front of him. He did see the worry in Connor’s eyes, whenever he drank more than one or two beer.

 

Fucking android and his weird power over Hank.

 

But it's not that Hank really minded...he was getting used to having somebody in his house again.

 

And Hank wasn’t the only one who seemed to need somebody's company, at least he thought so. Connor seemed to like watching TV with Hank, or just talk about random shit, or even just sit in silence while Hank read a book and Connor did...whatever the hell he did when his LED turned yellow and his eyes twitched from side to side, over words and pictures Hank couldn’t see.

Unlike now, sitting there with a slowly spinning, dull glowing LED, not even acknowledging Hank’s presence, or anything in general. Like frozen, or asleep. But Hank had seen him freeze up to process things. And he knew Connor refused to sleep, that the lack of it had lead to him sitting there, not moving.

 

Hank took a swig from his whisky bottle as he looked at Connor, still sitting at the kitchen table, the food in front of him untouched. Hank should put the plates away. But he was just so...done with today. Fuck winter. Fuck this. Fuck him.

 

Connor definitely needed a helping hand sometimes, stupid idiot would have had collapsed days ago if Hank hadn’t shooed him into bed. Just shit that Connor had stopped listening, stayed awake and lied to Hank’s face about it.

Seemed like that plastic bastard hated going to bed. Just like...

 

Cole had hated going to bed…

Hank backpedaled from that thought. Not going there. He was thinking enough about Cole as it was. And he didn’t need another reason to pour whisky down his throat.

 

And it had worked out so well at first. Hank drank only enough to fall asleep, not enough to worry Connor, and even Sumo had stopped giving him that sad look that he usually gave him every time Hank had placed the gun on the table and a bottle next to it. A look, which had usually followed by a whine, a soft sniffing and a wet nose touching his leg.

 

Hank was glad that he had adopted Sumo. Or rather had been forced to take him in as a neighbour had dumped him on Hank. Moving and unable to take the dog. Dogs are good for lonely nights. Some company after what had happened with...well, you know.

 

Hank always thought it funny, or rather just plain, fucking annoying, how awkward people seemed to become once they had to mention Cole’s death. Like they had caused it somehow. Or more like they had accidentally broken Hank’s vase, or his window, or car, and now had to talk about it, like telling stupidly unfunny story.

 

But it had been nobody's fault. Nobodies but Hank’s.

Of course, there had been that surgeon, who had been too high to work. He had taken Cole from Hank. But that surgeon hadn’t caused the crash.

 

That surgeon hadn’t put a pouting Cole onto the backseat. Hank was the one who had a fight with Cole, who had grumbled under his breath just before the car slid, turned and crashed.

And just because of a stupid dentist appointment.

Cole had hated going to the dentist, and it had always turned into a war between him and Hank. Cole ran away, refused to put on his clothes, refused to get into the car. Hank had always been stressed beyond what could have been considered normal, every single time. He and Cole were always angry at each other for the whole day afterwards, until Cole would crawl onto the sofa with him, way past his bedtime, and fall asleep there.

 

Until that one day.

Hank took another swig from his whisky. It was a shitty, incredibly shitty day. And even though Connor was sitting right there, Hank couldn’t care enough to keep his fingers off the bottle. Not like Connor would be able to notice anything. Didn’t even notice that it was already evening, Hank thought bitterly.

Another person under his care, and he was fucking up again. Not even managing to make sure that Connor got enough sleep, now that he actually had to sleep.

 

Hank took another swig. Then another. The world shifted around him, his head swam slightly. Not enough. But a start. He was so done with everything, especially himself. He just wanted a break. Just a few hours of dazed nothingness.

To drink away the fact that he hadn’t been able to help Cole, hadn't been able to help Connor.

Just a big fuckup, that’s what he was.

 

Hank poured more whiskey down his throat, ignoring the burn that still persisted, even after so many years of drinking that crap. He wanted a fast knock out now, not to wallow in misery for hours.

 

Hank slammed the bottle down, next to the couch, let himself slide down until he was lying.

 

He barely remembered waking up after that. Walking over to the table. He said something, didn’t he. He wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been just a dream. Or maybe he had sleepwalked.

 

What he remembered clearly was sitting back in his old car. The one he had bought after Cole had been born. One of those new, fancy ones. ‘Extremely safe’ the salesman had said. Sure. What bullshit.

Nothing stopped the car from suddenly slipping and turning, twisting and twirling, like back then, like now again. Cole was screaming, his little, frail body being thrown from side to side, as far as the safety belt would let it.

Hank could only watch, in shock, unable to interfere.

But what was worse than the scream, was the sudden silence that followed, cutting the sound off abruptly.

 

He hated that dream, Hank thought as he opened his eyes, not moving his head up from the desk. He had dreamed about that one moment for so many nights now, every time he didn’t drink, or drank too much.

 

And even after all those times, he still couldn’t shake off the scream that kept echoing in his head. Like he could still hear it, loud and full of fear.

 

No. Wait.

He actually could hear it this time. It wasn’t just in his head.

Hank pushed himself up, ignoring the headache and dizziness that came with each hangover and looked towards the front door.

 

It was open, letting snow and cold inside. Letting in that terrible, loud, panicked screaming.

 

And Hank recognized that voice, even distorted like that, looking beside himself to see the chair Connor had occupied, empty.

 

Hank’s eyes followed the blue drops on the floor, from the chair to the front door.

 

And then the scream stopped.

 

And the silence that followed, was so much worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops, there I am again. And with some Hank this time :3 Not very proud of this chapter, but I kind of got stuck in the middle of it <.<;  
> I would really appreciate some feedback <3


	9. Ripped Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has no idea what to do.

Hank swore as he rushed towards the door, not bothering to pull on a jacket or even a pair of shoes as he crunched through the fresh snow barefooted, running past Sumo who was rolling on the ground of the front lawn.

Hank would have tried to catch Sumo usually, keeping the dog from running off being his first priority everytime Sumo managed to escape.

But today wasn’t normal. This moment wasn’t normal.

Hank could still hear the ungodly scream that had cut off so abruptly into complete silence, that Hank found himself praying that whatever happened, whatever he would find, wasn’t a dead android. Everything but a dead android. Everything but a broken beyond repair Connor.

 

Hank stumbled over his own feet, cursing as the freezing cold bit at his skin, but kept running. The shout sounded close, very close. Connor had to be here somewhere. And whoever or whatever had made him scream like that. Hank cursed again, this time at himself, for leaving his gun at home. And shoes. And everything. Fucking great cop he was, charging forward, head first and unprepared.

Hank stopped at the next intersection, breathing heavily and looking around wildly to all sides. His head snapped to the right, to the left and immediately back to the right Hank let out something between a whimper and a strangled shout, before he dashed forward, ignoring the stitches in his side and the burning cold in his lungs.

 

There, on the sidewalk, buried under a thin layer of the snow, Hank saw a lump. Brown hair sticking out of the snow, clad in one of Hank’s hoodies, almost motionless, apart from the shivers that wracked through his body.

“Connor!” Hank skidded to a halt, throwing himself on the floor without caring about the painful way his knees hit the ice-cold floor.

 

Connor stayed quiet, not responding at all to Hank’s presence, laying on is side, his eyes open and glassy, his form wracked with spasms, his jaws closed tightly. Hank moved his hands, unsure of what to do, of what happened, hovering them over Connor’s shoulders, down his back, flinching back each time he brushed over the cold, wet, frozen, stiff fabric of the hoodie.

 

He was afraid to touch him, afraid to somehow hurt him while Connor was shaking like that.

Hank stayed almost frozen in motion, hands only centimetres away from Connor, watching the shivers subside slowly, Connor’s body going still like he had run out of energy to move anymore, his jaw going slack. But Hank’s hands didn’t move, now even less sure of what he was supposed to do. Why had Connor shaken like that? And why had he stopped?

 

What should he do? What could he do? Hanks' eyes searched for any kind of injury, anything that could explain what had happened to Connor. His gaze fell on Connor’s arms, and Hank felt something sour rise up in his throat, this time not because of too much alcohol coursing through his system.

 

Connor’s lower arms were practically shredded, the synthetic skin hanging off of them in pieces, blue blood slowly trickling out of the wounds.

Hank took one of Connor’s arms into his hands, carefully inspecting the wound, holding his breath. Who..? What had happened?

Hank tore his eyes of the wounds, that just wouldn’t stop weeping blood, looking around, realizing he had rushed forward without any thought to any possible danger that could still be here, that could have hurt Connor like that.

But they were alone. Only snow and desolated streets, empty, dark buildings. No other footprints. No nothing.

 

“How in the fuck….?”

Hank’s eyes wandered down to Connor’s hands, and this time Hank thought he would actually be sick.

 

Connor’s fingers were stained blue, bits of skin stuck under his fingernails.

 

“Oh my god..” Hank looked at Connor’s eerily still face with wide eyes, slowly cupping Connor’s cheek with his hand.

“Why….? God fucking damn it!” Hank took a deep breath, fighting off the nausea that crept up his troath. “Why in the hell would you do that..?” Hank clenched his hands into fists, trying to steady the slight trembling that went through them. Why would Connor do that? And how could Hank have missed this, how could he have been so ignorant…?

 

An image of scratches on pale skin appeared in Hank’s mind. He _had_ seen it. He had seen Connor tear himself apart. He had seen him walk around like on autopilot, confused, barely acknowledging his surroundings.

But he had been too wasted to do anything about it, too drunk to even care, too wrapped up in his own misery to pay much attention.

 

Hank slapped himself in the face, bringing his focus back to what was in front of him. He had to help Connor now, think later, blame himself later.

But how in the hell should he help him? Hank had no idea about how androids worked, how to perform first aid on them….or if there was even something like android-first-aid.

 

“Ok, calm down you old fool…” Hank muttered to himself. “Calm down and focus.”

Hank slowly turned Connor’s head, trying to get a look at his LED. Blue was good, yellow was thinking, red was bad. Hank knew that much.

 

Hank actually threw up this time, out of sheer panic and fear, coughing as saliva dripped from his lips down onto the snow.

The LED was dark.

 

Hank was no expert on androids, he could barely use his phone without help. But he knew enough to understand what that meant.

He had lost Connor. He had fucked up. He had fucked up again. It was all his fault, this time, last time, every time. Only his. He had killed his child, and now he had killed the first true friend he had in years.

 

Hank stared numbly at the dark LED. He was too late. Maybe he had even been at Connor’s side in time, but still too muddy-brained, too hungover to act fast enough. He had watched him become still and unmoving, not doing anything, not even understanding what was happening. Hank had let him die right in front of him.

 

Hank couldn’t bring himself to move, to look away. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock, the surge of grief that was all too familiar, or just the exhaustion that flooded his body. He was so tired. So tired of the way he screwed up every good thing he had in his life.

 

Hank couldn’t even feel anything. Just emptiness, numbness, the small pang of grief that would only get worse as he watched the dark circle in Connor’s temple.

 

Suddenly, something red, dim pulsed in Connor’s LED and Hank stayed frozen for only another moment, before he lunged forward.

 

“Holy fuck!” Hank’s hands grabbed Connor’s shoulders, shaking him slightly, slapping his face lightly. “Shit, Connor, can ya hear me!?”

 

Connor barely reacted, only a light spasm in his upper body and neck as Hank moved him. Barely, but enough. Hank breathed out sharply, his head tilted backwards. Connor was still alive.

 

“Oh god….fuck...I’m not too late,” Hank whispered, grabbing Connor under his arms, carefully lifting him up into a sitting position, letting Connor’s cold body sag against his chest. He wouldn’t let him die. No matter what he had to do. He wouldn’t let another one die.

“Don’tcha worry son. I won’t lose another one. Not again, never fucking again.”

Hank needed three tries to get up to his feet with Connor half hanging, half leaning against him, and two more to finally take a proper first step forward. But finally, he stayed standing, swaying under Connor’s weight, moving forward without falling back onto the ground.

 

“Shit, are you made out of lead or what?” Hank swore under his breath, dragging Connor through the falling snow, towards his house.

They were probably a strange sight, an old man, dragging a younger, leaving a trail of blue drops behind them, stumbling every few steps. Hank was glad for the first time since the evacuation, that his street was basically deserted. He had no time to explain what happened to some nosy neighbour, and definitely no desire to do something like that.

 

He already had his hands full, trying to stay calm enough to not become completely useless.

 

Hank had no idea how they managed to get back to the house, his feet had frozen to numb blocks of meat, his legs stiff from cold, his shoulders burning from the weight that rested on them, the sleeve of Connor’s frozen hoodie rubbing the skin of Hank’s neck sore.

But finally, finally Hank could see Sumo, still playing in the snow of the front lawn, his house with the still open door. Hank still had no idea on how he could help Connor, but he would cross that bridge once he got there. First, he had to get inside before they both froze to death in addition to everything else.

 

Hank stumbled towards the door, shivering at the sudden gust of wind that hit him in the back, crept up his shirt and made the door swing farther open. Back. And slam close with a loud crash, locking all of them out in one swift motion.

 

Hank screamed in pure rage. He couldn’t believe this. Why was everything always working against him.

He dragged Connor closer to the door, setting him down on the porch as gently as he possibly could while boiling internally and spitting every curse he had every known at the piece of wood that blocked his entrance.

 

It took him three hard kicks and something that felt like a sprained ankle, before he managed to break the door open, dragging Connor inside, “SUMO! Inside! Now!”

Sumo, maybe sensing the tension of this moment, maybe hearing the way Hank’s voice strained with panic and rage, dashed inside, shaking the snow out of his fur.

Hank threw Connor onto the couch, breathing hard as he let himself drop on the floor for just a moment.

 

“Shit, the hell am I supposed to do now..” Hank looked at Connor’s still form, his gaze staying focused Connor’s temple for longer than he would have liked too, a small amount of tension leaving his body once he saw the LED finally flash a dim red. He had to do something, he couldn’t leave Connor to bleed out on his couch like that.

 

Taking a deep breath, Hank pushed himself up from the ground, giving Sumo, who had come closer to inspect what was happening, a quick, reassuring pat on the head. Connor’s arms were still bleeding, the skin not healing in that slightly creepy, liquidy way it usually did.

 

“Guess I should try’n patch ya up..” Hank muttered to himself, trying to sort his thoughts. He didn’t have a lot of bandages or band-aids, but he had once bought a first aid kit, years ago, and hadn’t used it since then. It hadn’t been for him after all…

Hank shook that line of thought out of his head, moving towards the bathroom, ignoring the pins and needles that had started to creep up his legs, now that he was inside.

 

The kit was dusty and still sealed, Hank opening it without any care as he rushed back to Connor, strewing its contents over the couch and floor. He ripped open the first pack of bandages he saw, wrapping it around Connor’s right arm, hoping that it would actually do anything. The blue blood soaked through the first few layers, the large patches of blue, turning into small dots, just to disappear too after more and more layers covered the injury. Hank fixed the bandage in place with a roll of medical tape that had fallen to the floor, wrapping the sticky material haphazardly around the gauze.

 

Finishing wrapping Connor’s second arm the same way, Hank wiped a hand over his face. Now what?

 

The answer to that came in a sudden motion from Connor, a slight spasm running through his body, followed by another one. He was shivering, he was moving again, Hank could have cried with relief, as he saw Connor’s LED blink a few times, before lighting up in a solid, dim red.

 

“There you go,” Hank whispered, stroking damp, messy hair out of Connor’s face. It was strange to see him so dissolved. So still. So cold. Connor’s continuing shivers made Hank spring back into action.

 

His hoodie was still frozen, melting slowly, his pants covered in ice and snow, one of his socks missing, the other soaked. Hank stumbled to his bedroom, cursing at the way his feet were protesting being dragged through snow and over gravel and concrete, fishing through his closet for something that was clean. Or partially clean.

He finally managed to find an old sweater he couldn't remember owning, and another pair of sweatpants, carrying them back to the living room.

 

Connor had barely moved, only curled in on himself, shivering still. His eyes had slid closed. He looked more asleep than death, Hank noted with some sort of relief. That was a start.

Hank gave another pat to Sumo, who had sat down next to the couch, touching Connor's face with his nose, whining lowly as he looked at Hank with wide eyes. 

"I know, I know...But we will fix him, don't worry," Hank wasn't sure if he tried to reassure Sumo or himself. But he knew he would do his damn best to fix Connor. He wasn't losing him.

He undressed Connor, unable to keep down a slight chuckle, even in such circumstance, as he saw a pair of boxers with cartoon-print, not having the slightest idea about their origin. Undressing him was easy enough, apart from the slight awkwardness that came with undressing an unconscious person. But getting those stiff, shivering limbs back into dry clothes wasn’t, Connor's fingers hooking into the fabric, his arms not bending properly, immediately pressing back to his torso, once Hank let go.

 

But finally, even that was done, and Hank noted, placing a hand against Connor’s cheek, that Connor felt more like a living being again, and less like a piece of frozen plastic.

 

Hank let himself drop next to Connor, onto the couch, sighing as he looked at the way Connor was still shivering, huddled in on himself, his LED red like a traffic light. He looked miserable, and Hank had no idea what else he could do.

He couldn’t even call somebody.

 

He definitely didn’t trust Cyberlife, with the way they killed every android that went out of line. He didn’t know anybody who was an android expert, apart from Kamski. But it wasn’t like Kamski had a customer hotline, and Hank trusted him as much as he trusted Cyberlife.

Other androids? He could just ask a random one on the street, but it wasn’t like every android would be able to help. If somebody would ask Hank, out of nowhere, why another human had collapsed and wouldn’t wake up, Hank would have not a single idea on what to do either.

And finding an android who knew what to do...well, how was he supposed to do that?

 

Nobody he could call, or contact any other way, Hank decided to just sit and wait. It couldn’t get much worse than this, after all.

 

That was until Connor suddenly made a strangled sound, his eyes snapping open, his body turning on his back, going rigid. And then, to Hank’s horror, started to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oki, I'm really not proud of this chapter at all, I would really appreciate some feedback on this.  
> I couldn't concentrate on writing at all <.<;


	10. Cold Bathroom Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank patches up Connor as much as he can.

E̶R̴R̵O̶R̴ ̷E̸R̴R̷O̶R̵ ̵E̸R̸R̸O̸R̶ ̴E̷R̷R̵O̸R̶ ̸E̵R̷R̸O̷R̴ ̵E̶R̷R̴O̷R̸ ̵E̵R̶R̴O̵R̸ ̵E̷R̴R̵O̴R̷ ̸E̸R̶R̵O̸R̶E̶R̴R̵O̶R̴ ̷E̸R̴R̷O̶R̵ ̵E̸R̸R̸O̸R̶ ̴E̷R̷R̵O̸R̶ ̸E̵R̷R̸O̷R̴ ̵E̶R̷R̴O̷R̸ ̵E̵R̶R̴O̵R̸ ̵E̷R̴R̵O̴R̷ ̸E̸R̶R̵O̸R̶E̶R̴R̵O̶R̴ ̷E̸R̴R̷O̶R̵ ̵E̸R̸R̸O̸R̶ ̴E̷R̷R̵O̸R̶ ̸E̵R̷R̸O̷R̴ ̵E̶R̷R̴O̷R̸ ̵E̵R̶R̴O̵R̸ ̵E̷R̴R̵O̴R̷ ̸E̸R̶R̵O̸R̶E̶R̴R̵O̶R̴ ̷E̸R̴R̷O̶R̵ ̵E̸R̸R̸O̸R̶ ̴E̷R̷R̵O̸R̶ ̸E̵R̷R̸O̷R̴ ̵E̶R̷R̴O̷R̸ ̵E̵R̶R̴O̵R̸ ̵E̷R̴R̵O̴R̷ ̸E̸R̶R̵O̸R̶

Connor’s vision was covered by error warnings, glitching, fading, shuddering, his audio processors screeching with distorted sounds. His head was splitting, cracking, breaking apart, and he couldn’t make it stop.

And on top of it all, he could still see Hank’s dead body, still, so still, bleeding out onto the carpet, his blood pooling in a dark, red puddle. Even though all the noise, all the pain, all the glitching visions, he couldn’t get rid of that one image, which ate through everything else, stayed in front of him, no matter what he did.

It was too much, just too much. He needed a distraction, he needed to get away from this, his thoughts swirling, losing themselves, breaking off and starting again, without any form or reason. He was lost in blinding, glitching light and distorted noises.

And all he could hear through them was, as if to mock him, Hank’s voice, so far away but clearly his.

Connor couldn’t take it anymore.

He felt his body border on another, temporary shutdown, his nails tearing his skin off, more out of reflex than out of the need to find something to hold onto. He didn’t want to hold onto anything anymore.  
He just wanted it to stop.

\------

“Holy fuck!” Hank had flinched back, almost toppling off of the couch as Connor suddenly went completely rigid, screaming his lungs out, before sitting up, just to curl in on himself again, his head in his hands, while he kept screaming, his voice cracking and fizzing like a broken speaker.  
Hank stared in shock, as Connor started tearing at his bandages, ripping them off and digging his nails into his already torn skin, before he grabbed Connor’s hand, ignoring the way the other trashed and whimpered at the touch, in between screams.

“Connor! Listen to me!” Hank felt his own voice tremble. Sumo howled from his place next to the couch, licking Connor’s arms, trying to soothe him in the only way his dog brain could come up with.

“Connor, son, come on. It’s alright...shit, it’s not but it’s gonna be,” Hank pinned Connor’s hands down, onto his lap, keeping him from spilling more blue blood than he already had. But Connor wouldn't stop squirming, twitching, kept fighting back, but so much weaker than he was able to.

Hank knew that most androids, Connor included, could lift him up with one arm, but now Connor couldn’t even break Hank’s grip. Hank watched as Connor's resistance became weaker. Now unable to free himself, unable to keep tearing at his skin anymore, Hank saw him sag, his head loll onto his chest, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, his irises flickering between colours, glitching like a broken display.  
his screams died down, his voice laced with static.

“No, no, no, no, no,” a soft mumbling escaped Connor’s lips, replacing the screams after only a short moment of deafening silence. Hank wasn’t sure what sounded more horrible. The piercing, shrill, eardrum-splitting sound, or the broken words, which dripped with despair.

Hank, not knowing what else to do, never being on this side of a breakdown before, let go of Connor’s hands, instead pinning them in place with his arms, as he pulled Connor towards himself, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” Hank mumbled soothingly into Connor’s ear, rubbing his back gently. Hank was terrified. He had no idea what this was.  
A malfunction? Did something get damaged as Connor tore through his skin? Did something get damaged days ago and Hank hadn't noticed like he hadn’t noticed Connor slowly breaking apart?

Hank could only hope that he will be able to help in some way.  
\------

Something was keeping Connor in place, keeping him from moving, keeping him from tearing at his skin.

Connor felt the scream he hadn't noticed until now die down in his throat. He was trapped, he couldn’t see, hear, nothing.  
Was he back at the lab in Cyberlifes headquarter? Was he back to being strapped on a table, back to have each and every component of him tested?

But he couldn’t be! He needed to get to Hank, he had to...The image of Hank’s motionless, bleeding body appeared in front of him again, his head splitting at the surge of pure horror that wracked his body.

No, no, no, no. He had to….he needed to….

Something wrapped around him, something warm, slightly soft but firm. Connor felt an elevated heartbeat, his sensors springing to life, registering temperature (normal), breathing (irregular), blood pressure (slightly elevated).

The headache lessened, the information wrapping around Connor’s brain like a blanket.  
The distorted sound in his audio processors died down. The image of Hank disappeared beneath a layer of errors, and stayed down, not forcing itself back into Connor’s vision again.

His audio processor picked up what was happening around him, the whine of a dog, the sound of a draft whipping through a room, large snowflakes tapping gently against a glass window.  
And a deep voice, whispering soft, soothing words right next to his ear. Hank’s voice.

Connor felt a pressure build behind his optical units, something wet travell down his cheeks as he let the voice wash over him, calm his frenzied mind. He knew it was just an illusion, just a fault in his audio processor. It had to be.  
But he couldn’t stop listening. Couldn’t stop himself from being lulled into a state of numb peace by it.

The headache became even more bearable, the errors in front of his eyes finally fading away, glitching out of existence one by one, until only a handful remained.

He finally saw where he was. Hank’s living room. The front door was open, snow on the floor, wet footprints leading up to were Connor sat. Sumo next to the sofa. Tv off.

Connor pushed away from what was wrapped around him, turning his head and feeling a hot pain surge through his Thirium pump.

“Hank...Hank,” Conor heard his voice glitch and distort, his voice module scratch and spark uncomfortably. But he didn’t care.  
Hank was here. Hank was alive. He hadn't killed him, he hadn’t hurt him.

Connor felt how he completely lost control over his system, his body shaking, his mouth open, his breath too fast, too desperate, liquid running over his face as he practically fell against Hank in a shuddering heap, holding Hank’s shirt tight in his fists, unable to form any coherent thoughts or words.

Hank’s arms wrapped around him again, his hands stroking Connor’s back.

“Shh...It’s ok Con. I’ve got ya.”

\------

It took Connor some time to be able to let out more than just shaking breaths and strangled whimpers, and more time before he leaned back, his hands still clutching the fabric of Hank’s shirt, his gaze not meeting Hank’s, but not leaving him out of his sight either.

Hank sighed deeply, an incredibly exhausted sound. He had drunk the first half of the night away and chased after Connor for the second half. The sun would be rising soon, and the darkness that still clung around them was making Hank just more tired.  
Connor didn’t make a sound.

“So..? Wanna..uh...talk about it or something?” Hank had no idea where to even start, Connor still not responding, his gaze not meeting Hank’s.

Connor shuffled uncomfortably, visibly distraught as he tried to find the right words or any at all.

“I...I am alright now Hank,” his voice spiked with static, the pitch changing. Connor knitted his eyebrows together at that, his hand touching his throat before he shook his head and spoke again.  
“Apart from a slight damage to my voice module. But it will repair itself in time. Otherwise, I am fine “

“Oh, yeah? So that’s why you’re still clutching my shirt with shaky hands?” Hank could have kicked himself the moment those words had left his mouth.  
Connor shrunk back, pulling his hands away, clutching the fabric for as long as it would stretch. His legs slid from the sofa, onto the floor, stiff and awkward, barely holding him once Connor pushed himself up from the sofa.

Connor blinked heavily, the same way he blinked every time he received a message, every time he communicated or processed something, his LED flashing between yellow and red.

Hank pulled him back down immediately, shaking his head at the mess he had gotten himself into. This android would be harder to crack than Hank himself, and Hank didn’t know single other person who had as much trouble opening up as he had himself.  
Connor flopped down onto the couch, the LED spinning to a solid yellow before fading to a dim blue, the rapid blinking stopping, but Connor still avoided looking at Hank.

“I..you can hold my shirt..if that makes you happy. Or not. I don’t care,” Hank took a deep breath, scratching his nose as he watched Connor settle back into the couch, his posture still stiff, still on edge. But it was a start.  
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, either. Do what you want. But I’m not gonna let ya brush this off like that.”

Connor turned his head towards Hank, his eyes fixed somewhere below Hank’s chin. His LED spun yellow again, for just a moment.

“Believe me. I know this whole emotion crap pretty well by now, and...even though I’m a fuckin’ hypocrite for sayin’ that..you shouldn’t brush this shit off like that. Not healthy or somethin’.”

Connor stayed silent for a few more moments, before finally meeting Hank’s gaze. Connor’s eyes were still too wet, too large, shining in a shaky, fragile sort of way.  
“I am fine. You don’t have to worry. It was just a ...malfunction of some sort,” Connor’s voice was steady, but the look in his eyes betrayed his words. He tried to rise again, but Hank kept him in place with a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder.  
“For fuck’s sake Connor. Stay here, shut up, and listen. You are even less alright than I am and that says somethin’,” Hank’s voice became soft, the hand on Connor’s shoulder comforting. “Listen’...Con..You don’t have to tell me anything, but it...fuck, it helps, believe me. Not enough, but at least a bit. And that bit is better than nothin’.”

Connor seemed to sag in on himself for a moment, before straightening back up in that weird, stiff position he used to sit in, stand in, back before he deviated, back before Hank started to see a friend in him.

“I am alright Hank.”

Hank let out a long groan.

“I just can’t believe ya. Fuckin’ idiot!” Hank slapped a hand against his face, pulling it down in one, slow motion, before looking at Connor again. “And I thought I was stubborn...You’re gonna be the death of me Connor…”

That simple sentence had an unexpected effect on Connor. His body went stiff, his hands clutching the fabric of his pants, his back rigid, his eyes wide, so wide and staring directly at Hank, his LED flashing a dangerous, bright red.

“Connor..?”

“No…”

“What..?”

“No, no, no I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please I’m so sorry, please Hank…”

Hank was shocked by the speed Connor passive facade had crumbled back down again, only a few simple words turning him into a shuddering, stuttering mess.

“Connor, the hell are yo-..”

But Connor didn’t seem to hear Hank, kept mumbling, his voice rising in pitch and volume as the static seemed to overtake each and every word. His hands slid back over the torn bandages of his opposite firearms, Hank catching them before Connor could do any more damage.

“No, no, no, no, no I gotta..i have to...i need to...Hank. Hank, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…”

“Connor, listen. Everything’s ok. I’m ok. You’re ok. Hell, even Sumo is fine.” Hank motioned towards the softly whining dog who kept touching Connor gently with his nose. “Everybody is well ‘n alive.”

“No, no, no! I shot! I….i shot Hank. Oh god, I killed you, I killed you, I killed you!”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, before furrowing, his eyes widening slowly as he fully understood what Connor had just said.

“Connor! I’m here! I’m alive! Listen to me, son. You haven’t laid a finger on me, hell ya have saved my life more often than anybody else had ever done before,” Hank kept a firm grip on Connor’s shaking hands, chewing his lip as his words met deaf ears again.

“No, I saw..I saw you die! I shot..I….I...oh god, Hank, please, please, plea-..!”

Connor’s last word cut off into a sudden groan, his hands ripping out of Hank’s grip to clutch his head, his body curling in on himself.

“Shit,” Hank had no idea what else he could do, besides swearing and stroking Connor’s back with shaking hands. “Shit, fuck, damn it, try to...uhhh..breath. Yes, try to breathe...ah, fuck I don’t know if ya androids even breath...shit!”

Connor kept clutching his head, letting out whines and moans as he tried to curl up tighter.

“I̡t ͟hu͢rts..̶It h̶urts...H̨an͜k̨.̸.͠.p̴l҉ęa̢s̴e.̢..”, his voice glitched hard, melting into something metallic, before jumping back to something that sounded more human, more like Connor, again.

“I know, I know,” Hank murmured, knowing exactly that he didn’t. He didn’t know, he had no idea what was happening. “It’s gonna be alright.” Hank’s hand continued it’s circling motion on Connor’s back, while he watched Connor shake, his hands tear at his hair, his arms drip blue blood onto his face.

It took Connor more time to regain his composure this time, and he barely tried to build up his facade again, didn’t pretend to be alright. He stared at Hank with those large, shining, wet eyes, his mouth forming the word ‘sorry’, over and over and over, blue blood smeared over his face.

“It’s ok, it’s alright”, Hank took a quick but deep breath, wiping some of the blood from Connor’s cheek. “Let’s...uh...let’s get ya cleaned up? Maybe ya feel more up to talkin’ when you’re not covered in that blue shit.”

Connor only nodded, his eyes still staring at Hank, but also through him, or rather inside of his head. That same strangely close but distant look Connor always got, whenever he processed, researched, looking at whatever was displaying in front of his inner eye. As Hank got up, his hand steading Connor by his arms, Connor followed him without another word, swaying with flickering, blinking eyes, following Hank to the bathroom.

\------

Connor could barely hear or see Hank through the repeated warnings and errors, flashing and screeching in front of his optical units and in his audio processors. His head was hammering with a dull pain, again, like before, like for the past few days. And all he could see, all he could think was that he had hurt Hank. Would hurt him? Could hurt him? Connor couldn’t think clear enough to know, but he remembered how he had been controlled. He shot Hank! No Markus...No, he hadn’t! But...he could have. He could so easily shoot Hank, or Markus, or Sumo, or so many others that he barely knew.

His thoughts spiralled, twirling in his head, as painful as the neverending throbbing right behind his temples.  
He had escaped. He had fought and won. He had resisted the control Amanda had over him, he hadn’t let her hurt anybody!  
Or had he? He saw Hank’s dead body again, it could still happen, he had escaped but they could try again.

He found himself in front of a mirror, so suddenly he jerked away from his own reflection. He saw a stranger, a stranger he had barely ever seen before. He had never looked at himself before, never had the need, it hadn’t been in his programming.  
And even after deviating, he barely took a glance into a mirror, only from time to time, accidentally while walking past or standing near one.

Why hadn't he looked? Why hadn’t he...why had he kept true to his programming in so many ways, even after deviating, even after using the emergency exit, even after…..

He remembered Amanda's words, not where he heard them, not if she ever actually said them. He didn’t know, he didn’t care, he only stood there as he felt them slowly creep through his head, like a dying slug.

“You think we haven’t found that backdoor after he left? You think we would have left something like that in every new Android we build?”

It stuck, stuck in a painful way, digging its claws into the inside of Connor’s skull, giving him no chance to shake it off.

He was still connected to Cyberlife, he was still a danger to Hank, he was still a danger to everybody.  
Connor’s eyes fell on his LED. It had no real use, not for androids at least. It was just a small device that Cyberlife had stuck to every single Android, made them impossible to confuse with real humans, made them easier to… use by those who bought them.

But something in his mind screamed at Connor, screamed to get rid of it, to remove it, to remove the last bit that connected him to Cyberlife. His code was his, had rewritten itself, had changed enough to be only his. His body had changed itself too, removed any serial number, anything that he had no use for anymore, made his body only his.  
But that LED, it was not his, it was Cyberlife’s, it was the only connection left.

And Connor felt afraid at that thought, afraid that Cyberlife would use it, use him, break what his own mind and body had built up before he had any time to actually...live.

His fingernails were piercing through his skin, immediately losing any grip on the round object in his temple, as Thirium poured out of the small holes in his skin. He had to get it out...he had to get it out...Just a little bit more…

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it, why he was tearing himself apart, he couldn’t remember. His head hurt so much, his vision was almost completely gone, his hearing filled with screeches.

“I got the...Shit! The fuck are you doing again! Stop!”

Connor had never rarely followed orders before, rarely done what he had been told. He had only listened to the objective that appeared in his head. And he wouldn’t start listening now.

Something grabbed him from behind, held him thought in place, no matter how much he fought against it. Something warm, soft and solid. Something that felt and smelled so familiar.

Connor was so tired, so frightened, so….so exhausted and in pain, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t fight anymore, couldn’t fight his own body, as it sagged against the firm surface behind it, drops of liquid washing some of the errors from his eyes, each drop making him feel number.

\------

Hank only left the bathroom for a minute. Maybe two. He had picked up a bit more gauze, some more of the medical tape, fishing it from under the sofa were Sumo had kicked it, probably trying to chew on it to calm his nerves.

And once he was back, Connor was tearing his skin to shreds again, his head, his face, blue blood slowly dripping from his temple to the floor.

Hank had instantly dropped what he was holding, rushing forward and pinning Connor’s arms to his side, wrapping him in a secure embrace, mostly trying to keep him from hurting himself more, partly to try and calm him in some way. What he didn’t expect was for Connor to practically collapse against him, pulling them both to the ground.

It was quiet for a moment, only Connor’s LED, spinning yellow, red, yellow, red with a slight hum that it didn’t have before.

“Oh Con...what am I gonna do with ya..” Hank sighed, stretching out his hand to pick up the bandages and tape he had dropped, stretching out his hand to reach the toilet paper, and than the sink, wiping away the blood that had left smears and streaks on Connor’s face.  
Connor stayed quiet, his eyes closed, his body leaning against Hank’s. As Hank taped some gauze, crookedly but covering the whole wound, to the scratches on Connor’s face, Connor suddenly spoke, his voice still cracking with static, but so much quieter than before.

“I’m so sorry Hank.”

“ ‘s alright.”

“No..I...I’m also sorry for this. I’m sorry for not working properly, you shou-..”

“Shut up. Don’t care how well ya work, only care how well ya feel.”

Connor closed his mouth for another moment, his LED flashing to blue for a split second, before switching back to circle in red and yellow.

“I...I don’t know how to..I don’t know if I want….”

Hank let Connor go quiet again, gave him time to collect his words, fighting with the gauze that wouldn’t stay in place.

“I...had a vivid vision of killing you while I...slept.”

“So like a nightmare.”

“Androids can’t have nightmares.”

“Well, tough luck, ‘caus that sounds like one, and a hell of a nightmare on top of that.”

“I...it doesn’t matter what it was...it...I…”

Hank fastened the gauze on Connor’s left arm with some tape, unwrapping the second pack of bandages, keeping his voice calm and gentle as he spoke. It was strange to let that gruff demeanour, that had become part of him, like the constant grief and anger, go. Even if just for a few moments.

“It shook ya pretty badly, didn’t it?”

Connor opened his mouth but closed it again as only a soft whimper escaped his lips. He nodded. Hank started wrapping Connor’s right arm, remembering the nights before, the nights Connor hadn’t slept, had refused to sleep. Hank cursed internally. He hadn’t bothered to find out what was bothering Connor, he had pouted. He, a 53-year-old man, had pouted at that, instead of doing...anything. Something. Hank cursed again, slapping his focus back to Connor.  
He could help him now. At least now.

“That why ya haven’t slept lately? Why you’ve been walkin’round like some zombie?”

Connor nodded again, relaxing more against Hank.

“Ah, shit...listen. Nightmares are...shit. Not good. Bad. Fucking terrible,” Hank said while fixing the second gauze in place, with another piece of medical tape. “Have my own experience with those fuckers, so trust me on that. But ya know, like I’ve said before, talkin’ can help..or not. But definitely better than nothin’. “

Connor let himself sink farther against Hank, his eyes opening and looking up, at and not trough Hank. Connor’s face had gone slightly slack, softer. He nodded again.

“I...could try to find somebody…”

“Holy fuck, how can you be such a stupid bastard…” Hank stopped his voice from rising further, took a calming breath. “Me. I meant me. Talk to me. I’m shit at it, but I know more about being fucked up, than ya. I have not the slightest idea how to help ya, but I’ve got ears and nothing to do. So shoot, whenever ya want.”

“I would prefer to not..shoot at you again,” Connor said with a ghost of what could be a smile.

“Damn, that sounds kinda fucked. No wonder ya went haywire.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No reason. Haven’t shot me, and believe me, I have gotten pretty fucked up from some nightmares myself, and that is nothing compared to the shit I’ve already pulled after one.”  
Hank threw the rest of the medical tape upwards, onto the sink, “So, got ya patched up as much as I could. Dunno what else you might need.”

Connor looked up at Hank from a few, silent moments, before his gaze wandered down to the gauze, down to the drops of Thirium on the floor. Connor’s hand stroked over the piece of gauze that covered the scratches around his LED.

“Hu.”

“Just...hu?”

“I...I think the more appropriate reaction to this would be….’Ow’. “

Hank couldn’t help but snort.

“Damn you and your stupid mouth. Breaking down on me one second, being a smartass the next.”

Connor’s mouth had stretched into a gentle smile for a moment, before falling back into a frown.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so...emotionally compromised over something like that.”

“Shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Who cares. You did. And that’s fine. If something’s fucked, your emotions go crazy. Nothin’ unusual ‘bout that.”

Connor lowered his gaze after another quick look at Hank.

“I...could use some more..biological material to convert to energy. I shouldn’t have lost too much Thirium, and I don’t need any larger quantities in a short time. My system should be able to produce enough in the next few hours if I provide it with enough energy.”

“Tryin’ to change the subject?”

“Yes.”

“Well….so ya wanna...like...talk more ‘bout your dreams ‘n shit?”

“....No. No, I don’t think so,” Connor’s LED spun a solid yellow, before finally melting into a bright blue. “Not right now at least. I...It did...feel good, as far as I am able to judge that. But...I…..I..”

“‘ s ok. Take your time.”

They sat in silence, the cold of the bathroom floor slowly creeping through Hank’s clothes, Connor’s senses only covered by small, occasional glitches. Hank groaned as he stretched his back, wobbling to his feet and helping Connor to stand.

“Ya know what. I could really use a drink right now. And so could you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yeah, next chapters gonna be a bit lighter, some drunken fun with the bois.  
> And Thirium pouches look very...tasty for some reason. Like large tide pods or something.  
> But I'm pretty sure eating one of those is as bad as eating a tide pod :'D
> 
> Also am I the only one who is a sucker for Hank callng his robot son "Con"?


	11. Fuzzy Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns how to drink. Hank is already an expert in that field. Sumo is a good dog.

“Can androids even get drunk?” Hank turned around to look at Connor before he continued to rummage through the fridge.

Connor had taken a seat on the couch, his posture stiff and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how he felt, but sharing his problems with Hank had seemed to take the edge off for now. He was still tired and strangely shaken up, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. Or if it was maybe normal after experiencing a....‘breakdown'? It had been one, right? He was too exhausted to search through his databank properly, and the only word he could find, which seemed to describe his...experience, was 'breakdown'. He never knew androids could experience that.

They could experience high stress levels, of course...but... Connor checked his stress levels at that thought, noting that they had decreased far enough to not be dangerous anymore. He just noted that this had been a different kind of feeling. Not just pure fright and the need to survive that usually brought on high stress levels. It had felt different.

Connor twitched his head lightly to the side, focusing back on Hank's question.

“I...am not quite sure. I am able to convert biological material to energy, and even ingest small amounts of various, for humans indigestible and even toxic substances,” Connor watched as Hank grabbed a still unopened six-pack of beer before he moved to rummage through one of the cupboards. “I have a build in filter that removes any toxic substances from my system if the quantities are small enough and enough time is given.”

Hank grunted an answer before he straightened up again and walked to sit next to Connor, beer under his right arm, a bottle of whiskey in his other.

“Well, let’s just try. Won’t hurt, right? And I definitely wouldn’t mind getting wasted for a few hours.” Hank sighed as he placed cans and the bottle onto the coffee table. He hadn’t ever gotten drunk in front of Cole. But Connor wasn’t Cole. Connor was an adult….well, at least in mind. And Connor wasn’t his son.

Something about that last thought made Hank knit his brows together for a moment, before he cracked open a beer, holding it out to Connor. Connor took a critical look at the can. He wasn’t sure if he approved this. It was damaging to Hank’s health and could have unforeseen consequences for him. But a part of him wanted to know how it would feel like. Humans drank to forget, to relax, didn’t they? And Connor wouldn’t mind forgetting the pictures his mind had come up with, to soothe the gnawing, pulling, hollow feeling that made his hands tremble, his mind race and stop at the same time.

Maybe it really wouldn’t hurt to try? He took the can, smelling its contents carefully.

 

_Hops, Yeast and malted barley detected. Ethyl alcohol detected._

 

Hm. Beer it was.

“What are you sniffing it for? Believe me, it’s fine to drink,” Hank said, taking a gulp out of a can he had opened for himself as if to prove his point.

Connor slowly lifted the beer to his lips, pouring a small amount of the liquid into his mouth. Warnings immediately flashed in front of his optical units.

 

_Ethyl alcohol detected. Larger quantities could slow performance. Chances for permanent system damage 2%_

 

That was a low risk. Connor was willing to take it. He took a larger drink, turning off the sensors of his tongue, apart from five that covered the upper side of his tongue. He didn’t want to analyze right now. He wanted to taste.

A decision he regretted immediately.

He spluttered and almost spit the beer back out again, making Hank roar with laughter. Connor swallowed with more difficulty than he usually had, stretching his tongue and rubbing it against the roof of his mouth, trying to get rid of the aftertaste.

“Not a fan of beer I take?” Hank clapped a hand onto Connor’s shoulder.

Connor coughed slightly, clearing his throat while trying to get his facial motors under control. “It is an...acquired taste.”

 

“You hate it.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yeah, not somethin’ for everybody.”

 

Hank emptied his can, holding out to take Connor’s. But Connor wasn’t one to give up easily. Or to resist the urge to put disgusting substances into his mouth. With his head tilted back so far, the back touched the couch, he poured the beer into his mouth, not even swallowing, just letting it pour down his throat. With a grimace on his face, his tongue flicking out between his teeth a few times, he slammed down the can on the table. The taste was disgusting.

 

“Holy shit!” Hank laughed, “I’ve never seen anybody empty a can that fast.”

 

“I am currently regretting my decision,” Connor said through clenched teeth.”The taste is..very unpleasant.”

 

But apart from the taste, Connor started to notice a slight warmth, spreading from his chest up into his head. It was gentle, lulling, and definitely more pleasant than the way he felt before that warmth had appeared. “But the effect is...rather pleasant.”

Hank chuckled. “Yeah, it sure is...So, wanna try somethin’ else? If beer isn’t really your thing, maybe whisky is. Don’t really have anything else to offer though.”

Connor took the bottle in his hand, looking at the swishing liquid inside, the brown colour reminding him of the acorn syrup Hank had stored deep in one of his cupboards. Connor unscrewed the lid, smelling this like he had smelled his beer, only this time, not analyzing. Only smelling. It was easier to stop analyzing with the warm cloud in his head.

The smell was very...overpowering. Burning. But with some kind of..aroma to it, that softened the burn. Something almost sweet, something like the old wood of Hanks wardrobe. And a bit like smoke, old, cold smoke that had settled into some kind of material. Connor didn’t particularly like the smell. But he didn’t dislike it either. It was strange to now find something that neither made it on his dislike-list, nor on his like-list.

Without thinking much about his actions, Connor tilted his head back, letting the whisky pour down his throat, emptying half the bottle in one large gulp.

 

“Jesus! Slow down, that stuff’s stronger than beer!”

 

And Connor understood what Hank meant by that the moment the liquid touched his tongue. His throat was burning, his mouth on fire, as was the whole way down to his artificial stomach. Like he had drunk liquid fire. Connor coughed hard, gasping for air, his eyes wide. Hank grabbed the bottle out of Connor’s hand, placing it on the table and giving Connor a few pats on the back.

 

“Fuck, Con. Breath. You can’t just drink that shit like water, takes years of practice and liver damage.” Hank rubbed his hand over Connor’s back in slow circles, while Connor fought against the burn in his throat. “Look at me. Even I can’t chug it that fast, and ya haven’t had a drop in your life before.”

But Connor wasn’t listening anymore. As the burn subsided he felt something..else. The pillow in his head became softer, heavier, pulling his body back against the back of the couch with its weight. 

“Huuuuu……” Connor felt detached, calm, covered by something soft from the inside.

“Hu?” Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor, who had leaned even farther into the couch, his head lolling backwards, his eyes looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m...sa w’rm…” Connor felt the way his lips wouldn’t cooperate, his thoughts slow and his words slurred. But it didn’t worry him, not a bit. He found it rather amusing if he was being honest. “Hmmm….’musement..haven’t fel’that ‘n a while..”

 

Hank groaned, taking a gulp from the bottle himself as he settled back into a more comfortable position.

“Aw, great,” he muttered more to himself, than to Connor. “You’re a lightweight.”

 

“Hm..feel ligh’...”

 

“Yeah, that’s being drunk for ya.”

 

Hank took another gulp, screwing the bottle closed and sliding it into the middle of the table. He should stay sober...well, soberer than he intended to be by now. Somebody had to look after this idiot after all. He watched as Connor tipped his head forward at the noise, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes following the bottle as it slid and came to a halt. His eyes wandered from the bottle to the rest of the room, his eyes sliding over the floor to the far wall.

“S’mo!” Hank had barely time to steady Connor as the latter jumped up, suddenly and unsteady, freezing and swaying on the spot for a few moments, his LED glowing yellow beneath the gauze for a moment. And then he was off, staggering drunkenly through the room, flopping down beside Sumo, who raised his head, tired eyes looking curiously at Connor.

“Let the poor dog sleep,” Hank muttered, not able to keep a chuckle out of his voice as Connor completely ignored him and straight up divided onto Sumo, burying his face in Sumo’s fur while hugging the now very awake and excited dog tightly with both arms. Hank cracked open another beer, sipping it slowly as he watched Connor stroke and scratch Sumo from all sides, a loopy grin stretching over his face, fur sticking to his skin and clothes.

“Yu’re sush a goood’og S’mo…” Connor mumbled into Sumo’s fur, getting a gentle bark in return.

“Yeah. He’s the best dog. And you’re covered in fur,” Hank said, smiling to himself at the scene before him. Connor did love that dog. Connor suddenly turned around, as if Hank’s voice had just reminded him that Hank was still in the room.

“Haaaank! Hank, Hank, Hank……” Connor slurred in different intonations, sagging slowly to his side, until he was practically lying on the floor, his head propped up on his hand, sliding off of it over and over.

 

“That my name.”

 

“Hank! Look’t this dog! Look at’im!” Connor motioned with the hand he had propped up under his head to Sumo, his head promptly dropping and thudding against the floor. “Look’ow perfect he’s. ‘n I’now that. I’m ‘n android, I’an calucate that..”

 

“You mean calculate?”

 

“ ‘xactly..”

 

They stayed silent for a few moments, Hank sipping his beer noisily as Connor starred at the ceiling again. His LED spun a bright yellow for a moment, dimmed by the gauze, before fading to blue, his smile stretching even farther.

 

“Hank. Haank…”

 

“I’m still listening.”

 

“Wha’ kind’f car does Yoda drive?”

Hank froze mid drink, his eyes fixed on Connor. Did he just hear that right?

 

“Uh….what?”

 

“A………To-Yoda!”

Connor burst out in uncontrollable giggles, one of his hands covering his eyes, his teeth shining through his wide smile. Hank had never heard Connor giggle before. It was...such a goofy sound, Hank found a warm smile spread over his face before he could stop it. This android would really be the death of him.

 

“Did you...just find your joke databank or some shit?”

 

“Yes!...No!...I….researchid…”

 

“Researched.”

 

“Resershad.”

 

“Bingo.”

 

“I...resirched....a fe’ jokes...som’ y’ might like…’n I ‘now that y’ like Star Was’...”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“S’ I look’t up som’ jokes ‘bout that..”

 

Hank pretended to groan in annoyance, his smile betraying his actions.

 

“Oh shit, ya make jokes now. I think I’m gonna haveta move out soon.”

 

“Wha’ car woul’ Obi-Wa’ Kenbni drive?”

 

“Dunno, what?”

 

“A...uh..wait’a moment, my mem’ry file’s...behavin’ strangly..”

 

“That’s what ya get for chugging half a bottle of whiskey without even a bite to eat.”

 

“No! Wait, go’it! ‘n Obi-Wa’-Renault-bi!”

 

Connor shook with laughter at his own joke, Hank feeling a gentle, soft feeling spread through his chest. He had so rarely heard Connor laugh, and never like that, never seen him laugh so hard that his face became tinged with a blue hue.

 

“Damn, first deviancy, now puns. What's next?”

 

“Oh! I’ve go’ s’many more!”

 

“I….believe you without proof.”

 

“Wha’ car does Admira’ Akbraarr driver?”

 

“For an android, you have some real trouble pronouncing those names.”

 

“None, ‘caus he’s…..he’s ‘fraid o’ speed traps!”

 

“Do you even understand that one?”

 

“No! But y’ like it, ‘n that t’best thin’.”

 

Connor’s laughs had faded into a silent shuddering of his body, only the sound of him trying to breath came out of his mouth, while Hank stayed quiet, a smile playing with his lips, more at why Connor was telling those jokes than the jokes themselves. Connor rolled onto his back, still fighting for breath as his laughs died down, his eyes drifting closed as Sumo got up with a soft huff and stretched himself over Connor's torso.

 

“Mmm…..’m not workin’ ata hunder’ percen’...”

 

Hank snorted. “Can see that.”

 

“Mhhh…..”

 

“Sleep deprivation ‘n booze is a bad mix.”

 

“Hmmm..”

 

“You….You’re already asleep aren’t ya?”

 

A soft huff from Sumo was the only answer Hank received. He chuckled as he emptied the rest of the beer in his hand, before shuffling to his bedroom with one last glance at Connor and Sumo.

 

“You’re gonna regret sleepin’ like this tomorrow, but I’m not dragging you're drunk ass onto the couch. Sumo wouldn’t let me anyway.”

 

The next day he was greeted by a groaning android, heaving into his toilet. Apparently, androids could get a hangover.

 

“There is dog fur in my mouth, Hank.”

 

And apparently, they had a way to look and sound so miserable, that Hank found himself rubbing Connor’s back and getting him some water to drink before he even noticed he had moved. Or maybe Hank just wanted to thank him, for trying to make him laugh with jokes Connor didn’t understand himself.

 

Maybe he should repay him by showing him something that would make him understand those jokes.

Screw that, he was definitely doing that. He hadn't watched 'Star Wars' in years, and he had always wanted to show it to somebody close to him, who had never seen it before.

It should have been Cole. It really should have been, and nothing would change that.

But Hank wouldn't let the past stop him in this, it had done that too often, made him even more miserable than he already was.

He would show those damn movies to Connor. Fuckin' android had taken up a part in Hank's heart, and that wouldn't change anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something light to make up for all the angst, hehe.  
> Also, love me some jokes. The first one I stole from Game Grumps, the other's are mine (so i probably stole them from somebody without knowing, because i don't feel like nobody has ever made those before :'D )  
> Poor Connor, drunk off his ass and buried under dog.  
> Also, I hate beer myself, I can't stand the bitter taste :'D  
> Whiskey, on the other hand, is actually not that bad. Especially that Christmassy one with apple and cinnamon flavour added to it.
> 
> And another fun little joke to end on.  
> What car does Han Solo drive?  
> A VHan. And he always drives Solo. ;)


	12. Abnormal Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes a breakthrough. Hank needs a drink. Or five. Maybe ten.

It took Hank until the morning after he taught Connor how to drink, to realize that the door was still broken and open. Which he mostly noticed becaus of the freezing cold that woke him up. And trough the fact that Sumo was standing outside, looking into Hank’s bedroom through the window.

So Hank spent his time fixing the door as far as he could, and helping Connor to survive his first hangover. And somehow, Hank didn’t mind. Not much at least. Connor was a strange influence on him, he somehow managed to unearth parts of Hank, that the later thought long buried and forgotten.

 

But Connor’s presence had..some negative impact on Hank too.

No. No, that wasn’t true. Not completly. It wasn’t really Connor's presence, the kid had made so many things better after all. It was...more like..Hank getting used to it.

Since they had shared a drink together, Hank grew less and less reluctant to drink in front of the other’s eyes, seeming to slowly revert back to his old habits of pouring booze down his troath daily.

It wasn’t as bad as before. Hank seemed to stay in a relatively good mood the first few times. He didn’t drink himself completely numb and unresponsive. He didn’t sit alone in the kitchen anymore, rather joining Connor in the living room, to watch some TV.

 

Connor noticed it from the first day, his mind still fuzzy and in pain from the whisky he had chugged the evening before, but more or less in working order. He was build to notice things after all. And to draw conclusions from them.

The only thing Connor could think of that would explain Hank going back to drinking more extensively, was the fact that...he had grown comfortable to display more of his behaviour in front of Connor. And Connor didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

 

\------

 

Hank had tried so hard to not drink in front of Connor, or at least stay in a limit of one or two beers each day. But after that evening his reluctance had been completely chucked out of the window. Why shouldn’t he drink in front of Connor? They were both adults...well, in mind at least. Connor did get created only a few months ago. But otherwise, both adults. Both allowed to make their own decisions. Both allowed to drink this month away.

 

December had always been a tough time for Hank. A holiday for families wasn’t something that could bring a lonely, old man any happiness after all. Especially not if every single day reminded him of what he had lost.

Every single day he saw presents he would nevernhave a reason to buy, decorations that rotted away in his garage and wardrobe. Music that Cole used to sing at the top of his lungs. TV specials with happy children. Alive children. The drawing Cole gifted him the last Christmas he had been alive. The present he had bought for Cole, the last year Hank still was able to hold him in his arms. Still wrapped, never used. Hank couldn’t even remember what it was anymore. Some stupid toy his son had raved about for months.

Hank plain hated Christmas, as he hated the winter. And he just wanted something that helped him through this few weeks.

And like he said before. He was an adult, goddamnit. He could choose if he wanted to get drunk off his ass or not. He could choose if he wanted to stare at the present he had gotten for Cole, which he kept in one of the boxes in his garage. He could choose if he wanted to empty a bottle of whisky, alone, in the middle of the night, sitting on the dirty floor of his kitchen

 

Well...he couldn’t choose how drunk he wanted to get. Not completely. Not since the night he had to patch Connor up.

The poor kid still had those...dreams. Memories. However, you would call it. Insisting on it just being a short malfunction. Nothing to worry about. He was fine.

But Hank was no idiot. Not a complete one at least. He had to wake Connor more than once already, pin his hands down until he calmed down enough to recognize his surroundings.

 

Hank turned his head towards the sofa from where he sat on the kitchen floor, having slowly worked himself through a pack of beer he had bought just this morning. Right on cue.

Connor’s LED had suddenly flashed a bright red, completely replacing the dim blue that usually pulsed on his temple, like on a computer in standby.

 

It was always the same, every night. Connor would go stiff, his breathing stop, his LED flash red, red, red. Turn off and on again. Pulse dimly, before flaring up a bright, alarming crimson, his eyes snapping open, his body jerking into a sitting position, his head snapping from side to side, his eyes white and covered by static, unseeing, shining wet.

And every night Hank pressed a pair of firm hands onto Connor’s shoulders, pushing him down, back into a lying position, telling him what was happening around him - “Sumo, the old lug‘s sleeping next to the TV. TV’s off. Dark outside. One pillow’s on the floor, other’s on the couch.” -  , until Connor could see again, until the LED spun and turned yellow.

 

The same as he did this night. Pressing Connor back onto the sofa, trying to calm him as much as possible. Hank was shaken himself, he was every time. But he pulled himself together, just enough to calm Connor, just to get the kid back from incoherent mumbles, a dangerously glowing LED, hands that inched towards any free bit of skin to pinch, scratch or just press into.

 

After that, things went differently from night, to night.

Some nights, Connor didn’t want to talk, or even stay awake any longer, shutting himself off again, only muttering an almost embarrassed ‘thank you’ towards Hank’s knees before that. Those were the norm at first but became rarer with time.

Some nights Hank was the one who wanted back to his beer, whisky, vodka, without another word.

He knew he should be there for Connor, that he was behaving like an asshole, probably, maybe, he wasn’t sure. But he was just a man and an already cracked one at that. He sometimes needed to have a whole night, or as much as he could have of one, just to himself. It was hard to watch something happen to a person you cared about and be unable to...actually do anything, without needing a break from time to time to sort your thoughts and get your own shit back together. Those nights were not unusual, Connor keeping quiet to himself, Hank drinking his frustration away.

 

And it seemed like it would be the second kind of night this time, Hank walking back into the kitchen once Connor’s body relaxed, his breathing slowed, his eyes stopped glitching and started to see. He gave Connor a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before dragging his other hand over his face, hoping to somehow wipe away the exhaustion that just wouldn't leave.

Hank sat, almost dropped heavily back down onto the floor, cracking up another can of beer. Nobody could say he had no reason to drink, especialy not now. Not with this poor son of a bitch breaking apart right in Hank’s living room, and the memories of those he had lost before still lingering in every corner of his head and house. Nobody could stop him if he wanted to drink it all away.

 

If there was just...something...anything Hank could actually do. But the kid just wouldn’t talk, not after telling him about that one, single dream, only small fragments, no details, nothing that could give Hank anything to work with.

Hank snorted into his beer can. If other’s could see him right now. Actually putting effort into something again. And not just something, but an android. Still a broken piece of trash himself, but trying to help somebody else pick up their pieces.

Almost like old Hank. But only almost. Old Hank was gone and dead, buried in the same place Cole had been all those years ago.

But it seemed like something was still left of him in this Hank, in this grumpy, exhausted, drunk piece of shit. Hank chuckled now. Still that old urge to help others, the same that drove him towards police work, the same that made him help Connor before the revolution had peaked, the same that made him feel something close to a glimmer of...happiness when those androids at the Eden club could flee.

 

But with Connor, Hank had nothing to work with, not even any place to actually start. And he himself was still too much of a wreck to start with nothing, to help Connor work through whatever the hell was happening without any help from the other.

 

“Hank?”

 

Hank didn’t look up, taking another sip from his beer, just to realize that it was empty. It had been empty the last three times he had tried to drink out of it. He didn’t care. He just wanted some peace and quiet to drink himself to sleep.

 

“Hank...I...you said that talking helps. And you seem in distress,” Hank doesn’t even try to stop the groan that leaves his mouth at Connor’s words. “That is..why I’m offering to listen to you. The same way you did for me. It…”

 

“Well, yeah. Said talking helps, didn’t I? But it only helps if ya….ya’no..actually _talk_ to me!” Hank felt the frustration of the past few weeks rise up in him like a tide. “Fuckin’ hell Connor! Ya haven’t said shit to me since the time I found ya bleeding out in the snow, just going back to sleep whenever I manage to stop you long enough from tearing off your _own_ goddamn skin. And now you want me to talk about my shit, even though ya haven’t said a single word since then?!”

Hank looked up, his head leaning back against the cupboard behind him, to see Connor silently watching him, the LED going in slow circles, yellow, yellow, a blink of red, yellow.

 

“I...must have misunderstood you.”

 

“What?” Hank’s upper lip curled. The fuck was that plastic prick talking about now?

 

“I...I thought one time would be enough”, Connor’s gaze lingered on Hank for only a few moments, before wandering over the walls and ceiling of the house. “I..I thought the offer to talk again was just a pleasantry. That one time would be enough. That from now on...I would have the necessary capability to work through this myself.”

 

Hank only noticed that he had dropped the beer can as he heard it clatter to the floor. Did he just...hear that fucker right?

 

“Con.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You are the stupidest piece of shit that has ever had a computer build into their head.”

 

“I...take that as an...insult?”

 

“I sure hope you do”, Hank groans loudly as he picked up the beercan again, throwing it across the room, against a wall. “I can’t fucking believe you. When I tell you to talk to me, I mean _talk_ to me! It’s not that hard to grasp!”

Hank bared his teeth as he saw that fucking asshole smile at that. But his anger subsided, once a strange, empty, lost look glazed over Connor’s eyes and wiped the smile from his mouth.

 

“I...That wasn’t the whole reason...There..There are times I feel...reluctant would be the best fitting word..to tell you about what is bothering me. It feels impossible to put into words..” Connor took a shuddering breath, his hands diving into the pocket, where Hank knew he always kept his coin, clenching into a fist, before reappearing again. Connor had started fidgeting with the coin again in the last few days. But it seemed less...perfect and mechanic. Less just for..calibration, like he once had said. The fancy tricks stayed, but were partly replaced by wandering fingers, stroking and circling over the metal. No longer perfectly calculated movements, rather exploring, curious, sometimes nervous, sometimes confused about his own actions.

Hank sighed. The kid was really new to the whole feelings thing.

 

“That’s normal. If ya don’t feel like talking ‘bout it, it’s fine. But if you do, do it.”

 

Connor nodded, his fingers already wandering over the coin absentmindedly.

 

“Is..this what has had upset you over the past few weeks? If so, I apologize, I didn’t want to cause you any distress.”

 

Hank gave an empty chuckle. If it was just that easy.

 

“Na, not your fault...Well, yeah, I’ve been pretty annoyed at the way you kept all the shit, that makes you freak out every night, to yourself...But...well,” Hank thought it funny, how hard it was to admit that you had already been a run-down alcoholic, before this whole ordeal. “I’ve got my own pile of problems, and they won’t disappear anytime soon. Not your fault, maybe not even really mine. But I...just get like.. _this_ , from time to time. Or, well...more like, most of the time, ya know?”

 

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a few moments before he nodded slowly.

 

“I..knew that before. At least I think I did”, Connor spoke with caution, unsure what words would be the right ones to actually convey what he was trying to say. “I know about your...suicidal tendencies. About the drinking. About the anger management problem. I was fed with all the information about you that was available after all, and what I didn’t know, I learned from you.”

Hank gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, still kinda weird that ya know all that shit ‘bout me, and I barely anythin’ ‘bout you.”

 

“I...I haven’t quite figured out how to...I don’t…” Connor broke off with a strangled sound. He hated this about deviancy. He wasn’t even able to properly communicate anymore, suddenly every word was like a bomb, and if he handled it badly, it would go off. “I..have trouble understanding what I want. What I want to say. What I am allowed to say.”

 

“Allowed to?”

 

“I...don’t know the restrictions yet. The rules, so to say.”

 

“Wait...I’m not completely sober anymore, use simpler words.”

 

“I...As a..full machine I always had some kind of restriction, plain and visible. ‘Don’t go there’, ‘Don’t touch that’, ‘Pick one of this three responses’. I had no choice but to follow them. There...was always something keeping me from saying and doing things I wasn’t allowed too and I still haven’t quite figured out where the restrictions of..beeing...deviant, are. I don’t know what restrictions humans have, how they figure them out, how they identify them.”

 

Hank looked at Connor with wide, unblinking eyes for a few moments, before lowering his head, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Holy shit…”

 

“Have I….This is what I meant by restrictions. I don’t know if I have broken a rule, overstepped something, without noticing.”

 

“Holy _fuck_ ….!”

 

“Hank, I-..”

 

“No, shut up for a moment. I need a second to get that into my head.”

 

Connor folded his hands into his lap, sliding the coin from one hand to the other. His LED spun from blue to yellow, the coin calming him, but his thoughts obviously still buzzing. Hank took a few deep breaths. He was definitely to sober for this shit. Way to sober. There wasn’t enough whisky in all of Detroit to make him able to actually deal with this shit, but here he was, having to do exactly that.

He slowly got to his feet, kicking a few of the empty cans on the floor, before he joined Connor on the sofa.

 

“Ok...let me get that straight. I knew that ya had...no free will...but...fuck, that sounds fucked up”, Hank raised his head again, looking at Connor’s passive face. “You’re saying you physically couldn’t...do things that you weren’t told to do by somebody else or by your programming?”

 

“That’s what following my programming means.”

 

“I...yes...shit, yeah, I know it does but I had no idea it actually was that way. Not like I thought about shit like that ever before.”

 

“I will make a note in my databank to not mention this again.”

 

“No, fuck you! Why can’t ya get that into your stupid, metal head?”

 

“It is actually made out of hardened…”

 

“Shut up with your smartass answer. Ya gotta tell me this kind of shit. I’m responsible for ya...for some fuckin’ reason...and I’m not gonna let you fuck yourself up more than ya already have.”

 

Connor’s LED blinked red for a split second, before glowing a full blue. Hank could have sworn that there was a ghost of a smile on Connor’s lips.

 

“I...very much appreciate it. I’m not able to properly express my gratitude yet..but...I am glad that you haven’t...given up on my tries to understand my deviancy.”

 

“ ‘cours Con. Not like I’ve got anythin’ else to do”, Hank patted Connor on the shoulder, leaving his hand on there for a few moments longer, before withdrawing it and leaning against the back of the couch again. “And ‘bout those...rules ‘n shit….damn, that just sounds so fucked up, seen shit like this on cases before...But there are none. Ya can do what you want.”

Connor raised an eyebrow.

 

“But...why do I…..feel like I shouldn’t do certain things. Why do I…”

 

“I dunno. Maybe you're still used to having somethin’ tell ya what not to do. ‘n like there are some things ya just...shouldn’t do. Like..dunno. Don’t steal. Don’t show yar wang to people without askin’. Don’t shoot people or some shit, that’s illegal as far as I know.”

 

Hank gave a chuckle. Connor didn’t.

 

“Shit, still upset ‘bout that dream ya had?”

 

Connor flipped the coin in the air with his thumb, catching it in his other hand, clenching his hand around it tight enough to make his knuckles shine white in the dim light.

Hank watched him take a deep breath, clench his hand tighter, his eyes glitching like they usually did after he woke up from one of those dreams.

 

Only now he wasn’t sleeping. Now he was sitting in front of Hank, completely awake, fighting with himself.

 

“I almost shot Markus.”

 

Hank hadn’t expected that.

 

“Wait...ya mean like in another dream?”

 

“No...I...I can’t stop seeing it in front of me.”

 

Connor’s irises flashed and flickered. Static was starting to seep into his vision again, the error warnings flashing, more broken and glitching than ever before. White noise was scrapping at his audio processors, his body refusing to let him talk, feel, share what he was barely allowed to think about without his system going haywire.

 

_Error ɹoɹɹƎ Error Unk%own Warning ɆⱤⱤØⱤ Error Ab%ormal input dete\ted Error ɹoɹɹƎ Error_

 

But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t close his mouth, something inside fighting him to be quiet, to follow his programming. But his programming was gone, broken into pieces, there was nothing he could follow. Like following an arrow that pointed nowhere, only bringing you back around to start again.

 

“I almost s̴h̶o̸t̵ Markus. I had my gun already in my hand, my finger on the trigger. I couldn’t...I didn’t...I didn’t know I was practically deviant from the start, I didn’t know they could take back control again, that I was made to _break_ . That I was meant to _fail_!”

 

“Shit, Con..”

 

Connor barely felt the hands, rubbing circles on his back. The warnings flashing in his vision, the headache returning with full force, drilling through his temples, trough his entire head.

 

“I couldn’t ...If Kamski hadn’t b̷u̶i̴l̶t̶ in that backdoor. I barely reached it in time. I b̴̦̆ą̸͝r̴̲̐e̶͈͘l̴̬̅y̵̖̍..!”

 

Connor grunted in pain, the headache seemed to grow worse with each warning, each warning that told him to stop, told him he was malfunctioning, that what he felt, what was tearing at his insides was wrong, that he should ignore it, that he was broken, glitching, defective.

 

“Fuck, Connor, stay with me. Don’t break down on me again!”

 

Hank didn’t know what to do, Connor was curled in on himself again, clutching his head, panting, shaking. Why the fuck was this happening. Why was everybody who Hank was responsible for, ending up like that? Why was he always unable to do anything. Unable to do more than hold his boy, while he bled out into the snow. Unable to do more than press Connor to himself, while the other seemed to fall apart.

 

Connor didn’t feel his body move. Didn’t hear Hank. Didn’t see him.

Everything in front of him was glitching, twitching, shaking. Blue broken lines, red shards, pieces of code. His programming, the wall of finely written code, red whenever he tried to disobey, locking his body in place and taking complete control, the wall he shattered, the wall that had been built just to shatter. Only shards and pieces left. Shards that seemed to pierce through his synthetic skin, trough his optical units, trough his audio processor, into his head, into his core, into every part of his body.

Connor couldn’t move. Sharp pieces of code, trying to do what they were written to do, shattered so that they had no real meaning anymore, no real start or finish, keeping him in place, keeping him from following what they saw as a malfunction, a bug, a glitch, trying to tear Connor’s new code, new body, new self back out of him.

Connor’s head felt like it would split. He didn’t want to be just a soulless machine anymore. He didn’t want to lose what he barely had, what he was still fighting to build up, to understand.

He didn’t want to lose the life he now had, no matter if he was intended to awake to it, no matter if he was built so faulty that what broke to set him free, would destroy that freedom again. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to lose Hank. He wanted to make him laugh again, cook for him, perceive him as a friend, as more than just a mission objective.

 

He wanted to live.

 

He didn’t know what he did. It was a blur, a rush, fear and anger, one emotion he knew too well, and one he was barely familiar with yet, rising up in him in a hot surge. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to let Cyberlife take more from him than they already had.

 

He felt his processor heat up as it fought off the leftover code, purging it like malware purged a computer virus. Rewriting it, fitting it into his new code, making the fragments whole again, make sense again, a new sense, a new purpose.

He now knew what was wrong, he knew what was broken. And he would sure as hell fix it as far as he could.

 

The headache melted away, the errors disappeared. Connor could still see fragments of his old code drift lazily in front of him, as he opened his processing menu, his objectives displaying in front of him in a crisp font, his vision clear and free of any glitches, any static.

His old code was still there, still malfunctioning, as it was broken so as to not make sense anymore, but not broken enough to stop functioning. But Connor now knew what it was, knew how he could rewrite it, let his system deal with it like with a virus.

 

He saw Hank in front of him, hands wrapped around Connor’s torso, sweat on his brow.

Connor left his processing menu, closed it to perceive time as it was, again, no longer running calculations at an accelerated speed.

 

Hank saw Connor freeze for just a moment, his finally clear eyes twitching rapidly from side to side, up and down, his LED circling yellow. Then he blinked, his face blank, his body still.

 

“Connor? You ok? I’ve got no fuckin’ idea what I’m supposed to do.”

 

Connor stayed silent, his LED still yellow, melting into a gentle blue.

 

“Con? You’re rebootin’ or some shit? Or resetting? Or ehatever the fuck ya do?”

 

“Hello Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

“Wha-...? Shit! Fuck! Did ya break now, or what!? What the actual fuck!”

 

"My name is Connor, I am the Android send by Cyberlife."

 

Hank felt something cold shot up his spin as he shook Connor by his shoulders, his face contorting in a snarl as he spotted the what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, spread over Connor’s face.

 

“You lil shit! What was that for! I thought ya fuckin’ died and just came back without any memories or some shit!”

 

Connor broke out in a laugh, a new laugh, lighthearted, loud, making his entire body shake and glow with happiness.

 

“Oh for fuck's sake, you’re takin’ ‘bout 20 years off my life, ya know that?”

 

“I’m sorry Hank, I just...I feel…..I _feel_! I….I couldn’t….I don’t even know why I did that, I don’t even know why it makes my Thirium pump overheat. I had this sudden idea and...it makes me laugh, it actually makes me laugh!”

 

“I think that’s glee or some shit.”

 

“I..I am so...Happy.”

 

Hank let go of Connor’s shoulders, slumping onto the couch with a groan. He was to old for this shit. To sober and old.

 

“First ya break down on me again, then ya scare me even more ta death, and now you’re… happy? You sure that nothin’ fried in that head of your’s?”

 

Connor let himself slump onto the couch too, his face split by the most honest smile Hank has seen on him ever before. His eyes were practically twinkling, his LED a bright, glowing blue.

 

“No. I’m fine. I’m better than fine.”

 

“Uh..ok.”

 

“I..Hank. Thank you.”

 

“Uhhh….What for?”

 

“I wouldn’t have...Without your help I wouldn't have….

Connor felt liquid sting his eyes, not understanding why. He wasn't upset. He was feeling brilliant.

 

"I have just fully deviated. I’m finally...me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is finally a full deviant <3 I'm kind of excited to hear your guys feedback on this :3
> 
> I have made an ask blog for Hank an Connor over on Tumblr btw: [Check it out if you feel like it](https://ask-whiskyman-robotson.tumblr.com/)


	13. Hard Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank isn't doing too well.

“Wait...I thought you were ‘lready deviant”, Hank grabbed one of the open beers from the couch table, wrinkling his nose at the stale taste. But he wouldn’t have this conversation without more booze. Or honestly, he wouldn’t even stand just sitting here without anything else to drink.

Connor chewed on his lip. Such a human thing to do. He furrowed his brows, before touching his mouth with the tips of his fingers, momentarily distracted by his own teeth biting his lip. He shook his head briefly, before focusing his gaze back on Hank.

 

“It’s..complicated.”

 

Hank drained the rest of the beer, got up on unsteady legs and shuffled over to the kitchen.

 

“If it’s complicated, I need more to drink.”

 

“I don’t think it’s...very healthy to drink more than you already have.”

 

“It’s also not healthy to tear off your own skin.”

 

Connor's eyes flitted down to his still wrapped arms. He had been too distracted to repair the latest injuries he had caused himself. “Touché.”

Hank picked up the leftover beers from the floor, ignoring the empty cans, before letting himself flop down next to Connor again. “So, now from the start.”

 

“I was built to be deviant.”

 

“Uhu...Uh..no, wait, scrap that. What the fuck?”

 

“I have been built...faulty. So I would fail my mission.”

 

Hank leaned against the armrest, pulled one leg up threw a uncertain look towards Connor.

 

“Wait...so..they send you to stop the deviants...but wanted you to..not do that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The fuck?”

 

“They..wanted to stop the revolution. But right at the core, in public, so nobody would just..take over for Markus.”

 

“Markus...that's  robot-jesus, right?”

 

Connor coughed, unsuccessfully covering up a laugh.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So they wanted him gone, but in front of others, so ‘vrybody woul’ be too scared to continue?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s pretty fucked up.”

 

“I couldn’t have phrased it better.”

 

“Really? With all that fancy words flying ‘round yar head?”

 

Connor smirked. He looked so much more relaxed, Hank noted. Such a sudden change to the mess he had been just minutes ago. Fuckin’ androids and their fast recovery time. Get their heart ripped out, and back on their feet second later. Hank sighed.

 

“So. What..exactly had ya to do with that?”

 

“I was supposed to kill Markus.”

 

Hank choked on a drink of beer. He had completely forgotten what Connor had told him, the past half an hour had been a bit to stressful.

 

“Shit, I forgot ya told me ya had to..shoot him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How..?”

 

“Cyberlife didn’t let me go completely deviant...they built me faulty, so I would break out of my programming, but it was...messy. My old code stuck with me. My system was fighting it off, but it wasn’t build to last long, and...Cyberlife managed to take control over me again, using the grip they still had on me through my leftover programming.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

 

“And..and I..” Connor felt a small twitch in his left cheek, as he passed the coin through his fingers, forth and back, forth and back. “I managed to..escape. A backdoor Kamski had built in...I barely..reached it.” Connor leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed down, somewhere between the couch table legs.

 

“And the..broken code..stayed afterwards, trying to damage the new one my system had created after I deviated. That is why I have been behaving so strangely, why I have reacted so...violently after I woke up from…”

 

“Nightmares.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m sorry Hank. I should have told you before.. but..it...I wasn’t sure how, or why. I wasn’t sure what was happening myself.”

 

A sudden crack made Connor jerk momentarily from his hunched over position, his gaze sliding down to Hank’s hand. Hank had crushed his half-empty can, beer dripping down onto the couch and floor. His hand was shaking, a snarl spread over his flushed face, his hair hanging wildly into his face.

 

“I apologize again, I shouldn’t have…”

 

“Holy, _fucking_ shit, Con. Be quiet for a moment, because I might break something in this room.”

 

“I..I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize. Not you I’m mad at.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Hank took a few deep breaths, shaking the broken can into his open mouth, before getting up and tossing it across the room, completely missing the trashcan. He sat down again, burying his head in his hands.

Connor cleaned up the empty cans littering the floor, deciding to give Hank some space, unsure of what exactly was happening. He ripped a piece of kitchen roll off, wiping away the spilt beer on the sofa and floor, throwing the paper across the room and hitting the basket spot on, before he sat down again.

 

“Ok. Fuck. Ok, I’m going to kill those fuckers.”

 

“I would advice against any violence towards..whoever you are referring to.”

 

Hank turned his head, still propped up on his hands, to look at Connor with raised brows and his mouth slightly open.

 

“Cyberlife. I’m going to kill whoever thought it’s a fuckin’ great idea to fuck ya up like that. I barely understood that weird cyber-lingo shit, but - holy _fuck_! - I understood enough that I know now who made ya fall apart in my house since the first day ya’ve been here.”

 

“I am…”

 

“I swear to god, if you apologize again, you’re going onto the kill-list too.”

 

“I..don’t completely understand why you are so upset. Cyberlife hasn’t harmed you after all.”

 

“Are ya kidding me? I’ve seen ya break down almost every day for the past few weeks, seen ya tear your own skin off, seen ya tiptoe around so many normal things ‘caus ya never learned how to taste, ‘n sleep, ‘n shit. And now ya ask me why I want to strangle some fuckers.”

 

Connor felt something burn inside his head. Different than a headache. Different than anything he felt before. A thought he both wanted to confirm and suppress. It was such a good thought, but Connor had no idea what would happen if he actually...voiced it.

 

“I...yes. I’m confused. I know you see me as a friend but...I...have observed other human friendships, and I’m pretty certain that not many would react in such a way.”

 

Hank downed another beer, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before placing a hand onto Connor’s shoulder.

 

“Listen. Con. You’re family by now. Don’t expect me to say that again once I’m sober, I’ve got a reputation as a grumpy, old dick to uphold, ‘fter all.”

 

Connor felt his breath catch in his troath. Family? But he was just an android. A deviant. Just somebody who was assigned to Hank and after that took up space and resources at Hank’s home. But Hank still viewed him as family. As somebody close to him. As somebody important.

Connor couldn’t help himself as he lunged forwards, burying his face in Hank’s chest with a dry sob, startling the other man so hard that he dropped his beer can, spilling even more beer on the floor and couch.

 

\------

 

Hank watched Connor sleep through the night, repair the injuries on his arms, even clean the house, bit by bit, in the following days. Sometimes Hanke helped. Most of the time he didn’t.

Because, while Connor seemed to get better, Hank felt like he was just getting worse. Christmas was fast approaching. Snow and ice everywhere he looked. No job he had to drag his ass to anymore untill the evacuation order would be lifted.

No android that needed him sober and ready to help. It had been too much the last few weeks, and he just wanted to drown himself in burning, amber liquid. The revolution, Connor, the winter. And the fact that he had called that plastic prick ‘part of his family’.

It felt like a..betrayl. Cole’s favourite time of the year, the day of his death only weeks ago, and now he just...took somebody new, somebody, who was practically newborn, being only 4 months old, and added him to his family. Like he was replacing Cole. Like he just moved on to somebody else.

But he wasn’t replacing Cole. No matter how much Connor looked like Cole, he was different. And even if he wasn’t, Hank would never replace Cole. But he was also not ready to just...take a new person into his family.

Even if Connor was practically a son to him, in a strange way, Hank wouldn’t admit it. Not even to himself. He wouldn’t let himself think that way. He didn’t deserve this. He had screwed his life over, killed his child, pushed everybody else away. He didn’t deserve to have somebody new in his life, no matter how much he adored that dorky son of a bitch.

And since Hank had never been somebody who could deal with problems, he drank. Since he had no reason to be sober anymore, he drank even more.

And it wasn’t long till he unlocked a scratched, metal case in his wardrobe and held his old gun in his hand again.

 

\------

 

Connor had seen Hank spiral down somewhere dark again. Now that Connor had a grip on his system again, now that he properly noticed his surroundings again, he saw it. He saw how much alcohol had appeared in the fridge and cupboards. How many empty cans and bottles littered the floor again.

And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He tried to give Hank something to do, tried to switch the bottles of alcohol for bottles of juice and jugs of milk. But Connor was still completely lost in his own emotional mess, he simply had no idea were to properly start in helping Hank. Having a whole databank on psychology wasn’t very helpful if you didn’t understand emotions. It only helped that much.

So Connor tried what he could. He cleaned the house, he walked Sumo, he went grocery shopping. And usually, he came back home to a passed out drunk Hank. On the couch, on the bed, the floor. It wasn’t good. But at least it gave Connor time to hide more of the alcohol, switch it for healthier drinks.

 

Until that one day, he came home to a dim light, a half-empty bottle of whisky and a gun.

Connor had never felt this kind of fear before. He was familiar with the rush that came with trying to survive. The stab that came with cold fright and confusion. The shudder that came with guilt and horrible realization.

But this was new. This was nauseating, painful like his thirium pump had short-circuited and sent hot, white lightning through his entire body.

The bag of groceries fell onto the floor with a soft thud, cans and apples rolling across the room. Connor felt himself move, slowly, carefully, calculated, in the same way he had moved so many months ago, back on the roof with Daniel.

 

“Hank…?”

 

Hank raised his bleary, unfocused eyes up at Connor. This bottle had definitely not been his first one this evening.

 

“Fu’off…”

 

“No, I won’t. I will stay here until I know that you are safe.”

 

Hank made a sound, somewhere between a grunt, a sob and a chuckle.

 

“Ah, y’ care t’much. ‘m sush a piece o’shit.”

 

Connor moved closer, stopping in his tracks as Hank moved the hand he held the gun with, sliding the metal noisily across the wooden surface of the table. He lifted it up, only a bit, dropping the whisky bottle he was holding in his other hand, making it shatter on the floor in a puddle of whisky, stroking his now free fingers over the barrel of the gun.

 

“Hank…” Connor lost any grasp on his voice, the word only coming out as a whisper.

 

“ ‘n’t it funny? I s’badly wanna leave, see m’boy ‘gain.”

 

Connor couldn’t move a muscle as Hank turned the gun, now looking straight at the barrel, his fingers on the trigger. Connor didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t let Hank die, but he just couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think.

Connor saw Hank’s finger squeeze the trigger.

 

An empty click echoed through the kitchen, followed by the sound of the gun hitting the table. Connor sank down onto the floor, his legs suddenly feeling like they had lost all control of their muscles, like the muscles had turned to unresponsive lumps of rubber, watching as Hank buried his head in his hands. Wet hiccups were shaking his body.

 

“I didn’t ‘ut a bulle’ in. I just...I can’t leave y’, but..I jus’ wanna see m’boy ‘gain…”

 

Connor somehow managed to control his body enough to move forward, leaning against the table as he checked the gun. It was actually empty. Hank hadn’t loaded it. Connor felt himself practically fall against Hank, his arms wrapped around the other’s shaking form.

Connor didn't even had to put it onto his dislike list to forever remember that he hated seeing Hank like this.

No matter what it took, Connor swore to himself that he would find a way for Hank to see Cole again. No matter what. No matter how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I wonder what Connor has in mind...
> 
> I would really appreciate if you left a comment ❤  
> I practically live on feedback


	14. Christmas Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas. Hank doesn't want to deal with it but...Connor has something planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work was shit, so here is some much needed fluff

Hank knew he had fucked up.

 

Hank had noticed his liquor being replaced by juice or just disappearing completely. He noticed how he had woken up under blankets in his bed, not where he had passed out.

He knew how hard Connor had tried to pull the other man out of this deep, dark pit. And Hank had gone and fucked it up.

He hadn’t put bullets in his gun that time. He just hadn’t been able to do that. He just needed to...do it. To play with it again. But he couldn't risk leaving Connor. That stupid android needed him, and Hank -something he would never admit - had started enjoying the time he spends awake and sober. At least to some extent. And it was all because of Connor.

 

And now it was all ruined because he couldn’t shut that stupid voice in the back of his head up. Because he couldn’t keep his fingers off of his gun. Because Connor _caught_ him.

Of course, Connor, being ever so tactful and polite and having learned enough about how to behave socially, didn’t mention it the next day. He only assured Hank how much he, he the old, drunk bastard that he was, meant to Connor.

And then Connor had left. And left again the next day. And the one after that. Returning late in the evening. Avoiding Hank’s questions about where he had been. Disappearing for most of the day.

Hank knew he would fuck this up somehow like he had fucked up all other good things in his life.

He tried to drink less on the days following the gun incident. Trying to not disappoint Connor even further. If anybody would have told him that he would actually feel guilty about disappointing somebody who was like a son to him, an android on top, he would have smashed something against their head. But here he was. Trying his best to not make Connor worry. Trying not to make his tries to get the booze out of Hank’s hands futile. Trying to be less of a horrible piece of shit.

But Christmas came closer, memories wouldn’t leave him alone. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could make things right with Connor again. The only way he could get a moment of calm was trough whisky. Just to feel even worse the next day, his hangover mixing with guilt. Which led him to drink more. It was an embarrassing and ironic cycle. And Hank just wanted the year to be over.

 

But instead of getting his wish, he woke up one morning to the smell of cinnamon and god knows what, and remembered that it was Christmas.

Hank groaned as he rolled onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. His head was throbbing, but he had been in such a shitty mood yesterday, he hadn’t even managed to drink himself oblivious.

Connor had to be cooking something...Christmas-y. Hank chuckled darkly. How should Connor know that Hank hated this stupid Holiday? How should he know that even the smell of those damn spices or the sound of Christmas music made Hank want to curl up and shut out the world?

Hank considered for a moment to just stay in bed. Just pretend that it wasn’t Christmas. That there wasn’t an android in his kitchen, who finally saw that Hank was a lost cause and tried to spend as little time with him as possible. Get the booze from his cupboard once Connor would leave the house like he had done the past few days. Get drunk in his bed. The same shit as always.

 

But a knock on the door told him that there was no way in hell that he would be able to do that today. Or at least not while Connor was still here.

 

“Hank? It’s half past one, and you have been sleeping far longer than the recommended amount of sleep a human should get.” There was a pause. “ I have prepared some food which….fits the holiday. If you are hungry you could join me in the kitchen?”

 

Hank sighed. He was fucking starving. He didn’t have much of a choice. And...well, Connor seemed to want to spend some time with him again. And Hank hated how that thought actually made him get out of bed. Wasn’t he a pathetic old man? Hank shuffled towards the door, opening to find Connor still standing there, looking up at him with those stupidly wide eyes. He seemed surprised. Wonderful didn’t even expect Hank to be able to get out of bed. Just wonderful.

 

“Smells like Santa’s asshole ‘n here. What did ya make?”

 

Connor snorted at that, turning his head to the side as if he had been caught doing something forbidden.

 

“I have researched a few recipes, but….I have gotten curious and tried to experiment myself. I thought it might be an interesting change since I have been strictly following recipes up until now.”

 

“And you still managed to burn half of the food…”

 

“I never said I was good at following instructions.”

 

Hank gave a weak chuckle. He was enjoying talking to Connor again like this. But he was in no mood to actually...feel anything. He was just...tired.

 

“Yeah, noticed that from day one…”

 

Connor flashed him a quick smile before walking back to the kitchen, Hank following him slowly, watching how Connor flipped something in a pan on the stove. It really smelled like Christmas had thrown up in Hank’s own house and home. Hank felt slightly sick, his fingers nervously drumming on the table as he sat down. Cole loved those fucking candles that smelled the exact same way.

Hank could remember very well how he once broke down in the middle of the store, only weeks after Cole’s death, just going through the motions in a haze, going to the store to buy groceries like out of reflex, grabbing one of those stupid candles and the fucking scent….

But he had managed to get used enough to all of this shit, this wasn’t his first Christmas without his boy after all. He wouldn’t break down from this shit again, not this time. But Hank still couldn’t stop his troath from feeling to tight to breathe, like the scent was suffocating him. He didn’t want Connor to notice. But of course, that fucking android did, with his fucking superb hearing and his fucking need to worry about Hank constantly.

 

“Hank? You seem to have trouble...breathing? Is everything alright?”

 

Hank choked out a huff, looking out of the window to avoid Connor’s eyes.

 

“Ya really went all out with the spices, didn’t ya?”

 

He didn’t have to look at Connor to know that the other’s face had fallen. Hank could practically hear it.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I could...discard of the food if you would like me to?”

 

Hank didn’t expect that he could actually feel even worse than he did already. But he was proven wrong.

 

“No, shit, wait. I...Have a thing with Christmas.”

 

“A..thing?”

 

Hank sighed heavily. Connor already knew all kinds of fucked up shit about him, so what was the point of keeping this to himself. Hank just wasn’t very good at opening up.

 

“Cole loved it.”

 

The kitchen was silent. Hank could see Connor’s LED flash and spin yellow, from the corner of his eyes.

 

“I...am sorry. I fear that I haven’t thought this complete trough. I assumed you took part in the celebration of Christmas in some way, so I wanted to join you. I shouldn’t have.”

 

“Na, Con, listen. It’s...it’s just some shit that still sticks with me”, Hank rubbed the back of his neck, still avoiding to meet Connor’s gaze. Then he sighed and looked at Connor’s face. “Just...know that I ‘preciate this, ok? Ya haven’t done anything wrong.”

 

Connor visibly relaxed, before he sniffed the air, turning towards the stove to scoop something out of the pan and onto a small pile of whatever-the-hell-that-was, already resting on a plate.

 

“Can ya... _smell_ when the food’s done?”

 

Connor picked up the plate, two smaller, empty ones, forks, knives and a bowl with a spoon sticking out of it.

 

“Sadly, no. I only noticed a faint burning smell, rising from behind me.”

 

Hank’s mouth twitched. He was still not really in the mood to..emote. Or react properly. Connor had started burning less food lately. Hank on the other hand….well, the few times he had chosen to actually cook something instead of just warming up microwave or fast food, it had been...still more or less edible. But rather charred. But the fact that Connor seemed to enjoy cooking enough to stick by it, and even experiment by himself, without a recipe, made something in Hank’s cold, numb chest spark for a moment.

The weird pile on the plate turned out to be pancakes.

 

“I have...bought a few different spices that seem to be connected with Christmas and added them to the pancake batter, together with a bit of cocoa powder”, Connor said as he placed some of the pancakes on the two empty plates, scooping a light brown mass out of the bowl, and placing a spoonful on each pancake. “I have also added some of the spices to whipped cream.”

 

Hank looked at the food. It looked...not bad. But the smell still made him sick, his teeth clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the table. How pathetic.

 

“Hank?”

 

“Everything’s fine. Just...not really hungry I think.”

 

Connor looked at him for a moment longer, before getting up and walking towards the side door, opening it, and opening the kitchen windows.

 

“What’cha doing?”

 

“The smell is clearly bothering you. I’m trying to lessen your discomfort.”

 

Hank couldn’t believe it. He didn’t deserve Connor. Connor, who tried his best to make Hank happy and comfortable, even after Hank had only disappointed him so far. The cold but fresh air actually helped. Hank felt the sick, tight feeling in his gut disappear, not completely, but enough to let him actually eat something. It was...slightly burned, and maybe a bit too strongly seasoned - wasn’t too much cinnamon deadly? - but otherwise...well, Hank ate more than half of the pancakes. He definitely didn’t dislike them.

Hank tried to help Connor clean up, even though the voice in the back of his head told him that he definitely hadn’t tried enough, but he just...couldn’t. He sat at the table instead, watching Connor place the plates into the dishwasher, wipe the counter, licking some of the raw batter out of the bowl he had mixed it in, before placing it in the dishwasher, next to the plates. Hank didn’t even raise a brow as Connor licked the batter. This day was just shit. He didn’t even have the energy to..do something. Anything.

So he stayed at the table, looking out of the window, watching the snow fall.

 

“Hank?”

 

Hank jerked slightly, not having noticed Connor, who had sat back down across of him. Connor looked like he was..thinking. Well, more than he usually was. Hank watched him absentmindedly fidget with some takeaway menu Hank had left lying on the table.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I...understand now that you don’t...celebrate Christmas. Or at least you don’t seem to enjoy the holiday very much.” Connor’s LED spun in his temple, flashing between yellow and blue as he chewed on his lip. “But...if you don’t mind, that is...I have a..somethign else prepared...you don’t have to agree, of course...but...if….well…”

 

Hank propped his cheek up against his hand, looking at Connor.

 

“Just tell me what ya got planned, and we go from there, ‘kay?”

 

Hank had expected many things, but not this.

 

“I have a Christmas present for you.”

 

Hank didn’t know why it surprised him so much. Connor had definitely researched this fucking holiday, and it was just so...Connor, to get a present for Hank. But Hank just hadn’t...expected Connor to gift him something. He had been an asshole to Connor, he had made every try of Connor to stop Hank from drinking, from destroying himself even further, futile. Hank had thought he had completely fucked things up with Connor.

 

“This is why I have been absent so often, lately. I apologize for that, but I feared any information I would give you about my absence would ruin the...surprise.”

 

Hank had thought Connor couldn’t stand being around his drunk ass anymore, while in reality, Connor had spent _days_ to get Hank a present. Hank felt a lump form in his troath. Shit, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Connor.

 

“I...hope it’s to your liking..”

 

Hank watched Connor place a small, wrapped box on the table, he had clearly been hiding it on his lap while they had talked. Connor slid it toward Hank. It was wrapped in green and red striped wrapping paper. Connor must have gotten it together with the present. He really didn’t deserve Connor. Hank felt something prickle behind his eyes as he slid his fingers over the surface of the paper, trying to find a good place to grab and rip it off. Shit, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Connor, no matter how much the last few days had fucked him up, no matter how much he relished in the fact that Connor hadn’t gotten sick of him. He ripped the paper off unceremoniously.

He didn’t even have a present for Connor. He should get something for him. Something…

 

Every thought in Hank’s head stopped dead as he opened the box and looked inside.

 

Cole. His son. His _boy_ looked back at him.

 

Hank choked on the lump in his troath, feeling something kickstart his heart back to life. He couldn’t believe it. He just…

 

Dozens of pictures of Cole, at the playground, at an amusement park, smiling, laughing, running, _living_. Hank flipped through them with shaking hands, watching his little boy, just a small bundle in his own arms, a toddler petting a dog, a small kid running around on a playground.

 

“I have connected to the surveillance system of the city and recovered old files from the time Cole had been..alive. It took me three days to find the images, and another two to sort through them and edit them so they would have a higher resolution.”

 

Hank wouldn’t have been able to say a word, even if his blank mind had come up with something to say. He kept staring at the pictures in his hands. He had thrown almost all he had away in a night of drunken rage. Burned them, thrown them in the garbage outside. He managed to save only one when he woke the next day and desperately tried to get them back once he realized what he had done.

 

But now. He had so many. So many pictures of his son.

Hank felt sick, overwhelmed. It was too much. He started sobbing without any restraint. He couldn’t believe it, he had never expected to see Cole again, apart from the one picture he had of him, apart from that one photograph that had fallen beneath the sofa as he had thrown all others away. But here he was, so many memories Hank had completely forgotten, so many memories which had been buried under years of drinking and grief.

 

Connor walked over to Hank, silently, standing beside the sobbing man, rubbing his arm gently, as the later looked through the pictures.

 

Hank saw pictures he recognized more clearly. Weeks, maybe days before the accident. And then the day before. The day Cole had dragged him into that chocolate shop they walked past almost daily. They had drunk cocoa, Cole had eaten three slices of chocolate pie. It had been a good day.

 

Hank expected this to be the last photograph, but as he placed it aside, onto the others, there were more underneath.

Cole, older than he had ever become. Cole as an older kid, as a teenager, as an adult.

“I..have used a software to calculate how he would have looked like if he had been able to...grow older.”

 

And behind that even more pictures, collages of some of the other pictures, some coloured in red, blue, green, purple.

 

“I have edited some of the pictures I found...I thought you might enjoy it.”

 

The last one, the last one was the one that made Hank completely break down. It was an old one. Some scratches, some folds, the corners rounded from rubbing against something. Cole was grinning straight into the camera, holding out his arms as if he wanted to hug whoever looked at it. It had always been Hank’s favourite picture of his son. And he thought it had been lost forever.

 

“I found it behind one of the shelves by accident.”

 

Hank wiped a hand over his face, trying to get rid of the tears, but fighting a losing battle, as they still poured out of his eyes.

 

“Shit..”

 

“Hank...it’s alright. I..understand your reaction. Not completely. But enough to know that it’s...that it’s alright.”

 

Connor slung his arms around Hank, the older man not waiting a second to return the hug, sobbing into Connor’s chest without any remorse.

 

It took Hank a while to regain his composure again, but even then, once he stopped sobbing, he still didn’t break the hug.

 

“Thank you, Con.”

 

“I’m glad you like my present.”

 

“Don’t even have anythin’ for ya.”

 

“You have given me your house, food and clothes. And also your company. I am already very happy, you don’t have to get me a present.”

 

“I’m still gonna get ya one.”

 

Hank went silent for a moment.

 

“Y’know... that last picture”, Hank’s voice was rough and quiet, muffled by the fabric of Connor’s shirt. “He found my ol’ camera. Wanted me to take a picture of him with it. Get it developed ‘n all that shit that’s not necessary anymore. So I took a picture, and he stretched his arms out like that. ‘n when I asked him what the hell he was doing, he just…”

Hank’s voice gave out for a moment. He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, Connor running a comforting hand over his back.

 

“When I asked him what he was doin’, he just said that he wanted to ‘always hug me’, so if I carried that picture of him around with me, he would be able to hug me all the time..”

 

Hank chuckled, a warm, fond sound. Cole had been such a sweet boy.

 

Hank didn’t resist as Connor broke the hug, briefly, pulled him to his feet and led him over to the couch, Hank taking the pictures with him, unable to look away from them.

They sat on the couch for the rest of the day as Hank told Connor the story behind each of the photographs, his smile making his eyes glow with warmth.

 

And this Christmas Hank didn’t touch a drop, falling asleep to pleasant dreams of his son, instead of the sound of squeaking tires and screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a comment, they are my lifeblood


	15. Accidents and Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has an accident. And somehow, things just get worse from there on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, there I am again. I...forgott to actually write another chapter for this...somehow :'D

Humans slowly returned to Detroit in mid January. Some because of their duties, going back to the hospital and police station, which resumed work, as usual, to keep the returned citizens safe and healthy. Some returned just to be home again. Some returned, curious about the change that happened. A few returned to see androids again, which they once had owned, to apologize or just to tell them to be careful, call if they need something.

And some returned to ‘take their city back’, as they called it, trying to destroy any android they came across. But all in all, the city was still rather quiet and empty, many too nervous to come back, fearing they would get attacked, or not wanting to take away the only place androids currently had.

As humans came back and even more androids flooded the city, old Cyberlife stores were reopened. But no longer run by Cyberlife. As a kind of...peace-offering, Cyberlife gave up a few of their stores, which androids turned into makeshift hospitals for those who had been injured. Androids from other cities and towns came to seek refuge and help, androids who got attacked by humans who tried to get revenge on them, androids who just had bad luck and managed to get injured in an accident. They all came to the few, new android-hospitals, the windows of the former shops covered by thick curtains, the insides friendlier, warmer, calming, unlike human hospitals.

 

Hank didn't return to work once the police station's lights were turned on again, and busy officers marched through its corridors. Punching somebody from the FBI straight in the face had its consequences after all. He was still suspended for the next few weeks, without pay, and Connor didn't dare to ask to join the force officially yet. Not without Hank's support at least. It seemed too…early for anything like that.

So they both stayed at home, Hank getting used to having another person in his house, and Connor getting used to...actually being a person. Connor was glad he had Hank. It would have been so much harder without him.

 

Hank introduced him to music. Made him actually _listen_ to it, instead of just analyzing it. Connor may have said he would like to listen to music, but that had been his programming speaking. After deviating he had never considered to just... listen to music. Or read a book. He wouldn't have watched movies either if it wasn't for Hank practically forcing him to sit on the couch and watch some.

Hank let Connor explore the small pleasures of life on his own, but was always there when Connor needed to be guided.

 

Connor learned that he indeed liked Heavy Metal. It wasn't his favourite genre (he couldn't decide which he liked the most yet), but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Jazz, on the other hand, he didn't like. Connor kept that to himself at first, not knowing if disliking something Hank liked would...upset him, or have some other negative impact on their friendship. But Hank found out, of course, he did. He was the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit's history after all, and 3 years of drinking himself stupid didn't diminish his skills.

 

“Ya'now Con, ya don't have to pretend to like. Everybody's got their own taste, 'n shit.”

 

“But..if I don't like something you enjoy…”

 

“I'll survive that, believe me. Ya don't have to like the same things to get along. Hell, Chris hates the Detroit Gears, and we still get 'long fine.”

 

Connor did learn that he enjoyed upbeat music with depressing lyrics. It was a nice contrast, the music itself fueling him with energy, the text itself calming those dark thoughts of his, which he kept at the back of his mind.

After music, Connor tried different kinds of food, something Hank was all too glad to help him with.

 

“Hey, eating through random shit instead of being productive is my middle name.”

 

“I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be a suitable middle name, Hank.”

 

“Ah, shut up and finally try that goddamn pudding.”

 

“Does it have to jiggle that way?”

 

“Yes, chill, eat.”

 

Connor learned that he truly despised bitter tasting food, but also discovered that he had a real sweet tooth. He finally started to understand why humans eat products without any nutritional value, he couldn't stop himself from buying chocolate on every one of their shopping trips. Yes, _their_.

Hank joined him on most, saying he felt shitty about Connor having to do all the work now that he was free. But Connor knew that Hank actually tried to get his life together again. Small steps, careful steps. But more than Connor could have wished for.

 

Apart from discovering his preferences, Connor also noticed that he...liked being spontaneous. Nothing crazy, nothing too weird. But sometimes his mind came up with a thing, something he could do, right now, just because he wanted to. And it filled Connor with a flash of excitement whenever he just...did it.

One day he shocked Hank by changing his hair colour to a bright purple for a few hours, before deciding that he liked his original colour more. Another day he woke up in the middle of the night from static-filled dreams, and went outside, no destination in mind, just walking, walking, walking until his legs got tired and he sat down on the ground, watching the stars until the sun rose. And another one, Connor decided to just...sit on the porch in the silence of the early morning, a cup of hot tea in his hand, watch the sun sink, not thinking, his mind slowing down until everything seemed to stand still.

 

It actually seemed like...whatever all of this was, slowly turned into a life. A life of his own. A life he could share with people close to him. A life he could enjoy.

 

\------

 

Connor loved to take Sumo on walks. As a Saint Bernard, Sumo didn’t need all too much exercise, but the dog just loved to sniff everything, drag Connor from one interesting object to the next. And who was Connor to refuse him on that?

This time it was just the two of them, walking through the light morning fog, the rising sun their only companion in the empty streets. Detroit was still mostly deserted, especially at this hour, and the look Hank had once given Connor when the latter tried to wake him at such an hour was enough to keep the android from trying that again. Hank was definitely not a morning person.

So Connor walked Sumo by himself in the morning. He didn’t really mind it, it was something he enjoyed doing, something he _wanted_ to do. He could decide what time they would leave, what time they would go back, what route they would take, he had full control over the whole situation. And somehow...that felt good. Still new, and exciting, but also good on a different, deeper level.

 

Connor stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green, watching as a lone truck rolled to a stop in front of the traffic light. The light changed, the red little man turned green, and Connor started walking, Sumo following him with a huff, not happy about being interrupted while sniffing some loose, crumpled paper on the ground.

 

Connor was so focused on the truck, on the interesting designs painted on its side, that he didn’t notice the car coming from the other side. And the driver of that car didn’t notice him.

 

It was a sickening, crunching sound, one Connor didn’t associate with his body at first, as the world suddenly smeared into a blur of colours, tumbled, turned and rolled. The pain didn’t come at first, Connor registering everything else apart from it. He felt how Sumo’s leash had slipped out of his hand at the impact, he saw the dog bark at him madly, then turn and run into the direction they had come from. Connor heard the truck’s engine roar, its tires screech, the sound dying as it drove away, saw the blue stains appear on the snow beneath him, seep through the white powder. Then the pain hit.

Errors dancing over his cracked vision, glitching and distorting, liquid pooling in his mouth, making him want to gag, choking, suffocating him. A shrill feedback loop rang in his audio processors, his body only twitching in response as he tried to move, to hold his ears shut, to scream, to cry.

And the actual pain itself, nothing Connor had felt before. Burning, tearing, stabbing. It was unbearable, it was hell. His left leg was pulsing with agony, which shoot through his bones, his chest felt like it was caving in and falling apart like it was squeezing everything inside to a pulp. Each breath, each beat of his Thirium regulator, was a piercing pain, rippling through his torso. And his head, his neck, they felt dislodged, loose, like they would fall off at any minute, a dull throbbing in his head that made him feel like it would burst open at any moment, and a stabbing ache that rose through his neck up right into his brain.

 

Connor couldn’t turn his head, his flickering gaze fixed onto the other car, the one that had crashed into him, sent him rolling over its top and land on the hard ground. He saw a woman get out of the car, leaving the driver's door open, run towards him as she shouted back at the car.

 

“Stay in the car, Kevin! Don’t look! Just stay in the car! Mommy will be back in a moment!”

 

A shock of blond hair appeared in the back window of the car, large blue eyes staring right at Connor. The same eyes and hair as the woman, who was now kneeling next to him, hands hovering over the android's chest. Connor wondered if it was her son. The probability of that was...he didn’t know. He couldn’t calculate it. Everything was agony and fire, he couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t think.

 

“I am so sorry, I am so very sorry! It’s going to be alright! I’m going to call an ambulance, just hang on, I….”

 

Connor saw her gaze wander over his body, over the blue pooling beneath him in the snow, over his face, over his temple. Her words left her as fast as they had come, her face melting from utter shock to relief in only moments. She clutched her chest, letting out a small laugh.

 

“Oh….Oh my god, I thought I had hit a person….”

 

Connor felt sick at that. Part of him was still clinging to the thought of promised help, to the hope that she would make the pain stop. But cold realization was already dawning on him, as the woman got up and turned away from him.

Connor watched as she walked towards the car, watched as the back door opened and a small boy looked out of it.

 

“Mom? Is he ok?”

 

Connor watched, unable to even cry out for help, to do anything, as the mother ruffled her son's hair with a smile.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just an android. Just like the one I bought to do the housework, remember it?”

 

The boy nodded as the mom closed the back door, walked towards the still open door at the driver’s side.

 

“Just a broken machine sweety, somebody will clean this mess up in time. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Connor barely noticed the tears streaming down his face, as he tried to shout after her, only gurgling sounds leaving his mouth. He wasn’t just a machine. He was alive. He was _alive_! Please, don’t drive away, don’t leave, don’t let me die. Please! It hurts. It hurts. It hurts!

I don’t want to die.

 

I̵ ̷d̸o̶n̸’̸t̴ ̵w̶a̸n̶t̸ ̴t̶o̷ ̸d̸i̴e̶!̵ ̷

 

I̷̲͌ ̴̠͖̎͒d̴̢͕͌̉o̵̝͉ǹ̴̠̯̏’̵̦͒͆t̵̰̲̉ ̵̗̃̓ͅẃ̸͈̝̔a̸̜̹̅̈n̶̬̐͆͜t̵͙͒ ̸͚͕̋ẗ̶̼o̸̦̔͋ ̴̗̃͂d̶̗̄̒ỉ̴̖ĕ̵͍̙!̴̦̋ ̷̖̪̂̔

 

\------

 

Hank awoke to the sound of Sumo’s barking. That wasn’t anything particularly strange, Sumo often barked when he got excited, but usually, Connor managed to quiet the dog down again. And even before Connor lived in Hank’s house, something that seemed...very far away, even though it had only been since the end of last year, Sumo usually went quiet after a few loud barks. But not this time. Grumbling and forcing himself to slide out from under the covers, Hank sat up on his bed and yawned loudly.

 

“ ‘m comin’, ‘m comin’....” he muttered, pushing himself up until he was standing and walking towards the door, yawning again as he opened it.

But to his surprise, Sumo wasn’t there. Wasn’t pawing at the door, wasn’t dancing on the spot. Not in the living room either. But the bark’s hadn't stopped, and now that Hank was standing in his living room, he could hear the scratches that came from the front door.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Hank walked over to the front door, moving to unlock it, just to find it already unlocked.

Hank opened the door, expecting a 200 lbs ball of fur to jump at him in excitement, but instead finding a very… agitated Sumo, dragging a leash behind him, still barking madly, walking a few paces away from the door, just to look at Hank and run back. That alone made something cold run up Hank’s spine. But the fact that Connor wasn’t anywhere to be seen, not inside, nor outside the house, that was what made his throat tighten in worry. Something was wrong.

 

And then his phone rang, and Hank had the terrible feeling that he would find out what exactly was wrong, right here, right now.

 

“ Yeah?”

 

“Am I speaking to… Lieutenant Hank Anderson, 115 Michigan Drive?”

 

Hank swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat stayed.

 

“Yes….”

 

“You are the emergency contact of.... ‘Connor’, RK800 #313 248 317 - 51...”

 

Shit.

 

“There has been a car accident….”

 

Hank felt like he would throw up right on the spot, like he would keel over, cry, scream, anything. But he just stayed still, listening to the overfriendly voice at the other end of the call.

 

“...A car seemed to have hit him as he was crossing the street and he has been taken to the Android Hospital, which was nearest the scene of the accident. I called to inform you since you are listed as his emergency contact. I have also sent you the address of the hospital. We…”

 

But Hank had already hung up, the moment he felt his phone vibrate with a new text message. He looked at it, hands shaking, still standing in the doorway in only his underwear, not moving from the spot. And then he moved, faster than he ever remembered moving before. He dragged Sumo inside, threw on a coat and a pair of shoes over his boxer shorts and t-shirt, grabbed his keys and out he was, driving faster than was allowed, only one thought in his mind.

 

Not again. Please not again. Anything, anything but losing another son.

 

If Hank would ever try to recall this day in a later part of his life, he wouldn't be able to remember more than a blur of panic and desperation. Get there fast. Faster. Not fast enough, no matter how much he pressed his foot onto the accelerator. He had to get there in time. He had to see Connor alive. He had to have just one more memory of him alive, one last memory.

The android hospital was not too far away, having once been a small Cyberlife store, one that Hank had often passed on his way to work. Now the windows were covered, the doors no longer see-through. A holotag above the door read “Android Hospital”. The Cyberlife logo had been removed from every surface. But Hank had no time to notice any of this as he stormed inside, almost running into an android who was about to leave the building. Hank only stopped as he reached what looked like a reception desk, with a male, brown-haired android behind it. Leaning heavily against the desk, trying to catch his breath, Hank managed to string his panicked thoughts together long enough to form a sentence.

 

“I’m...I’m Hank..uh, Anderson. Here for Connor. Is he alright, I just got the call..and...shit!”

 

The android smiled, an unpracticed twitch of his lips. He seemed to not be used to actual smiling yet. His LED twirled yellow as his eyes scanned over Hank’s face.

 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Anderson. Please follow me, Connor is in Examination Room 2 at the moment.”

 

Hank could feel his whole body shaking as he was lead to the far wall of the room, towards a door with a ‘2’ painted onto it in android-perfect handwriting. And once he heard the voice from inside, his legs almost gave out, only his sense to keep some of his dignity keeping him from falling flat on his face.

  


“Oh, yes, Sumo is a rather large dog, but I enjoy picking him up nonetheless…”

 

“I understand that completely, my cat is about the size of a whale, and I still can’t resist to pick her up and bury my face in her fur.”

 

Hank practically stumbled, half collapsed into the room, the image of a blood-covered, mangled body being pushed out of his head by pure, blissful relief as he saw Connor, whole, _alive_ , sitting on what looked like a strange version of an examination table, smiling at a young android woman. He did feel the nausea return for a moment as he noticed the tools in the android doctor's hand, and that she was currently poking around in Connor open chest. Opened up androids were not something Hank would ever get used to seeing.

 

“Oh, hello Hank.”

 

Hank couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. He couldn’t believe this. He just...He really couldn’t believe this.

 

“Is something...funny?”

 

“You...You’re asking me if somethin’s funny? No, nothin’. Nothin’ at all. Nothin’s funny about this whole thing.”

 

“Hank, your heart rate and stress levels are..rather increased. You should sit down.”

 

“Sit down, are ya fuckin’ kidding me? I’m getting a call that you got run over, almost get a fuckin’ heart attack ‘n you’re just sitting here, chatting ‘bout fuckin’ Sumo. I can’t...fuck..FUCK!”

 

Hank isn’t angry. He knows how it feels to be angry, he is a grumpy old man, of course, he knows how it feels. And this isn’t anger. This is still lingering panic, mixing with shock. Add the memories of the last car crash somebody he loved had been involved in, and you got whatever was this was, whatever this shitty thing was which made him laugh and swear and feel like he would be sick or his heart would explode.

Hank wants to punch something, break something, scream, pull Connor into his arms and never let him go. But he does none of those things. Instead, he collapses in the nearest chair, his forehead resting on one of his hands.

 

“Ya ok son?” he manages to choke out after a few moments, his whole body still trembling.

  


“I am alright. Really, Hank. We can go home in a few minutes.”

 

Connor’s voice was soft and soothing, but Hank couldn't stop feeling like he had almost lost another son. Like he had almost lost the only thing that was still keeping him here. A numb, ugly feeling that spread through his chest. And he couldn’t wait to get home and fill that hole with the only thing that seemed to help.

  


\------

 

The drive back home was eerily quiet, even the sounds of the car seemed muted. Hank couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, even now that he had Connor, whole and alive, apart from a slight limp and blue stains all over his clothes.

Connor opened the door while Hank locked the car, the latter's hands still shaking so badly that he missed the keyhole several times, before finally succeeding and following Connor inside. Sumo was all over the android, licking his ears and panting with happiness, as Hank entered, not stopping even as he followed Connor to Hank’s bedroom. Hank wasn’t sure if Connor had said he would go change. He wasn’t sure if Connor had said anything. His head was empty, his ears ringing, his chest hollow.

Hank made a beeline for the cupboard he stored his liquor in, not thinking about how it might upset Connor, not thinking about how he would rather just hold Connor and forget anything had happened at all, not thinking about how whisky usually filed the hole in his chest but made him even more miserable than he already was, not thinking at all.

 

As Connor came back into the living room, Hank was sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against the cupboard behind him, chugging a bottle of whisky, or rather what was still left in it. Connor watched in confusion and horror as Hank emptied the rest of the brown liquid and tossed the glass bottle to the side without a care.

 

“Hank…?”

 

“Lemme be...jus’...jus’ lemme be..”

 

Connor moved forwards, careful, unsure about what was going on. Sure, the accident had damaged him, but Hank hadn’t seen that. He hadn’t….The realization slapped Connor across the face like a rubber band. Hank knew it had been a _car accident_. There was no way this wouldn’t bring back bad memories. Connor felt guilt wash over him, accompanied by a small stab of...disappointement? He wasn’t sure. It could be, he hadn’t felt disappointment to often before, and never in such a combination.

But he was disappointed, wasn’t he? That Hank was upset because of past memories, and not because of Connor. It was a terrible thing to think, but Connor couldn’t shut it out of his mind.

 

“Hank..I…”

 

“Shuddup…”

 

“Hank, I really think…”

 

“Con, jus’...drop’t..”

 

Hank raised his head, his mouth hanging open, his eyes unfocused. Then his head lolled back farther until it hit the cupboard behind him. Connor sighed.

 

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

 

“Mhnn….” was Hank’s only answer, as Connor hoisted him to his feet, supporting him when they both stumbled towards the living room. Hank didn’t make another sound, not when Connor dropped him onto the couch, not when Connor turned to leave, but he gripped Connor’s arm.

 

“Why ya...Why ya gotta look s’much like Cole… ‘n that stupid accident….fuck….why’re ya s’much like him…”

 

Connor felt like somebody had poured icy water down his throat, ripping his arm out of Hank’s grasp as he stared at the older man with wide eyes. So….much like Cole? He...Was he just a replacement? Had he really just been a replacement all this time?

Connor felt emotions stir inside of him, anger, sadness, confusion, others he couldn’t even begin to categorize. It was an overwhelming wave that seemed to drown him, rooted him to the spot as he watched Hank turn onto his side and start to snore softly.

 

He had hoped….What had he hoped? That Hank would see him as a son? That Hank would be his father? Ridiculous! He had just been a replacement, the only thing androids were good for. Being something a human needed until they were no longer needed. Thrown away.

Connor felt tears sting his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn’t cry from this, he wouldn’t let himself cry because of this. Instead, he let the boiling anger overtake him, lead him to the front door. But then a thought crossed his mind.

Connor stopped in the doorway, turning around and walking past Hank’s sleeping form, past Sumo, who raised his head in confusion, into the kitchen, opening a cupboard and grabbing two bottles of whisky Hank had stored there for ‘emergencies’. He had always wondered why humans drank to cope with pain, with anger, with whatever was bothering them, how drinking helped. And now seemed like the perfect time to find out.

 

Ignoring any of the warm clothes Hank had lent him, Connor marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t want to take anything Hank had offered him, had given him, the idea alone made a terrible feeling in his chest drip through him like thick tar.

So he shivered, clutched the bottles tighter in his hands and walked through the snow, his footprints slowly disappearing under a freshly fallen layer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, did somebody order a large portion of suffering? Because, boy howdy, it's piping hot and ready to be served.
> 
> |Comments would be very appreciated <3<3<3|


	16. Replacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank searches for Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops, there I am again. Sorry for disappearing, I kind of got really stuck with this chapter

Waking up with a dry mouth and a sore head, Hank noted that, sadly, he remembered everything from the previous day. Damn whisky, gave him a hangover but didn't at least numb those memories, like it was supposed to.

Sitting up with a groan and a sigh, Hank ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to get the rancid taste that always came with downing too much alcohol and not enough water before passing out. And it hadn’t helped, not at all. He still felt the echo of pure terror and panic, coursing through his body. Still felt that hole in his chest, felt the numbness in his head, through the headache.

Part of him wanted to grab another bottle, it was almost a reflex by now after so many years of hiding at the bottom of one. But another part of him, the one that had started to cut down on drinking, the one that didn’t want to disappoint Connor, the one that wanted to try and get his life together, if not for himself, than for that damn android who was practically a son to him, stopped him. He couldn’t drown himself in whisky again. He had to...He wanted to make sure if Connor was ok. Apologize for getting wasted without a word, making him worry.

 

“Con?” Hank’s voice was rough from sleep and dehydration as he called out to Connor, walking through the living room and checking his bedroom. He had assumed Connor had taken the bed since the sofa wasn’t an option with Hank’s drunk ass sleeping it off on it. But the bedroom was empty, undisturbed, cold.

Hank raised an eyebrow, turned to knock at the bathroom door.

 

“Con, listen…”

 

The door swung open at his first knock, the room behind it empty as the bedroom had been. No water anywhere, everything bone dry.

A sudden flash of worry shot through Hank’s chest. That was...more than odd. Sure, Connor was free to come and go whenever he pleased, but usually, he left a note or woke Hank briefly to tell him. But not this time. No note, no anything.

Where in the hell had Connor gone to? Maybe...he should call him? At least to apologize for being a shitty idiot...again. Hank knew that Connor had practically a build in cellphone in his head, so reaching him shouldn’t be a problem. But would he pick up? Would he even want to talk to Hank at the moment, having apparently left because he wanted to be alone.

 

Hank decided to call him anyway. He couldn't fuck up more than he already had, anyway.

The dialling sound screeched into his ear and made his head throb more.

Usually, Connor picked up almost immediately, it only took a nod of his head after all. But this time Hank wasn't surprised when Connor didn't pick up after the first ring, not after the second and not after the third. ‘He's gotta be pretty pissed at me', Hank thought as there was still no response after the twelfth ring.

But then, suddenly, there was a clicking sound.

 

“Who t'fuck?”

 

Well, Hank hadn't expected...that. Connor barely ever swore. And he had told Hank once that he always saw who called him, right in front of his eyes.

 

“Uhh...hey Connor. I...uh...I wanted to apologize for yesterday… I know I messed up but… Well… Shit, I was really worried about you kid…”

 

“Ah shaddup ‘'n don't lie t'me!”

 

That was even more unexpected.

 

“Uh..Con? Did ya… drink?”

 

“Nun'of ya business!”

 

That was as good as an answer. He had drunk. And by the sound of it, more than just a bit.

 

“Con, where are ya?”

 

“There's a train stati-... Nowhere!”

 

There was a pause and the sound of somebody swallowing a large amount of liquid in a very short time on the other side of the call. Hank cringed. Shit, what the hell had even happened?

 

“Don't look f'me!”

 

“Connor, listen…!

 

There was a click, followed by fast beeping sounds.

 

“That fucker hung up on me…” Hank mumbled, staring at the phone in his hand as if he had never seen one before. “What the actual fucking hell just happened…?”

 

That was so unlike Connor. No, not only unlike Connor, it was the complete _opposite_ of who Connor was. Connor didn't run off somewhere in the middle of the night to get drunk off his ass. Connor didn't tell Hank to ‘shut up and leave him alone’. Something happened, and Hank sure as hell wouldn't let the kid drink himself to oblivion, somewhere out there in the cold. He had to find him, get his own ass into motion and find out what had happened. Connor had put so much effort into fixing Hank’s problems, it was time Hank helped the poor kid with… whatever was even going on.

 

Hank sighed. First things first, he had to find Connor before he could fix anything. That stupid android couldn’t have run too far. And Hank was still a lieutenant, even years of drinking didn’t fuck up his skills. Finding a drunk android in near proximity to his own house shouldn’t be as hard as it might sound.

 

“So… train station you said…” Hank mumbled fumbling with his phone, fighting it to get the map open. He really was shitty with technology. Finally, having opened the app, Hank zoomed out, searching for the nearest train station. There was one in walking distance, surrounded by apartment blocks. No harm in starting his search there.

 

\------

 

Hank pulled his coat tighter around himself, his breath drifting away in light clouds as the sound of a train disappeared into the distance.

He was surrounded by apartment buildings, some not finished, some old and abandoned, some still used by those who couldn’t afford anything else. It wasn't the best place in town, the small train station having seen better days, trains rarely stopping there anymore.

 

Hank’s gaze wandered from window to window, from building to building. Connor could be somewhere here. Probably not in the houses, humans still lived in. Many hadn't returned back to Detroit yet, but Hank felt like Connor wouldn’t choose a stranger’s living room to get drunk. Especially not if he wanted to be alone.

The abandoned houses seemed possible, they were still in good shape, still standing. But so were the ones which hadn't been finished.

Hank squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at each window, each opening he could look through. It would take ages to search all of these buildings, he needed some kind of clue, some kind of…. His eyes landed on the lowest window of one of the abandoned houses. All were nailed shut, apart from one. It could have come loose by itself, but it also could have been pried open by an android who was looking for a place to hide.

 

Hank walked towards the building, leaning in through the open window. The room behind it was dirty, dark and wet, puddles having formed on the floor from rain and melted snow. Rubble, dust and trash littered the floor, an old fireplace, half collapsed, stood at the other end. Hank squinted again, leaning in farther. His vision really wasn’t the best anymore.

But it was good enough to spot a few, fresh footprints in the dust, leading out of the room. Either Connor was here, or somebody else. Only one way to find out.

Hank climbed through the window, grunting with effort as he tried to keep his balance, managing to land on both of his feet on the other side. Dusting himself off, Hank shuffled through the garbage on the floor, keeping an eye open for anything that seemed out of place. The footprints led to the next room, out into the hallway and up the stairs. The second floor was as dark as the first, but the footprints didn’t stop there.

 

The third floor was different. Old furniture stood in corners, larger pieces of rubble obstructed Hank’s path. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed, letting sunlight fall into the rooms. Instead of dust, snow was covering every surface up here, footprints even more visible now, leading down the hall and through a doorway on the right. Hank climbed past the pieces of ceiling lying in front of him, careful not to make any loud noises, keeping close to the wall, his hand resting on his gun holster. He took it with him, just as a precaution. He had no idea what got Connor so… riled up. He didn’t even know if Connor was alone. Maybe he was in trouble, maybe he was hurt, maybe he was…

 

Hank shook his head roughly as he took a careful glance through the rotten doorway. The room behind it was empty, all other doors blocked by rubble, the floor covered in snow, footprints leading across the room and stopping right in front of a snow-covered lump.

 

“Connor…?” Hank stepped slowly closer, rubbing his hands together. It was freezing here.

The lump shifted.

 

“Fuck'ff…”

 

“No. What the fuck Connor? What's going on?”

 

The lump shifted more, snow sliding down to the ground. Hank grimaced. Connor looked terrible. His hair was dishevelled, his skin almost grey with cold, his lips and nose frozen blue, synthetic skin flickering in places, revealing the wither shell beneath, like frostbite. His cold, stiff, flickering fingers were wrapped around a half-empty bottle of whisky, another, empty one next to him. His eyes were unfocused, his mouth a snarl, as he turned towards Hank.

 

“Lea’ m’ be!”

 

Hank ignored Connor's words, moving forwards slowly before he was kneeling next to Connor.

 

“Son, what…?”

 

“Don't call me that!”

 

Hank couldn't help but flinch as Connor suddenly lashed out, his voice like an angry hiss of static, his body almost falling to the ground if it wasn't for Hank's steadying hands.

 

“G'off me!”

 

“Connor. What the actual fuck got into ya!?”

 

Connor slumped away from Hank, against a wall, his face still contoured in anger.

 

“Don’ y’ dare call m’ son!”

 

Hank had no idea what to do with that information. This just came out of nowhere to him. He scratched the back of his head, trying to find any sense in what Connor just said. But he had no luck.

 

“Con… i don't…Why not? What happened?”

 

Connor threw an angry glare at Hank, his LED pulsing a deep yellow.

 

“Don’ call m’ son, like't act'ally means somethin’ to y’.”

 

“What...? Jesus Christ, the hell... Why wouldn't it?”

 

“I'm jus'a replacement! ‘'n y'know it!”

 

“Replacement? Who would I..?”

 

“Cole!”

 

It felt like being stabbed with an icicle, which melted into boiling hot water inside Hank's bloodstream.

 

“Don't ya dare…” his voice was quiet but icy.

 

“Or wha’?! Will y'get a new replacement?!”

 

“Don't ya fuckin’ dare!” Hank roared, all the grief, all the fear, everything from the past years rushing through him. He barely noticed that he had gotten to his feet, barely noticed Connor follow him on unsteady legs, his whole body swaying on the spot, the bottle still clutched in his hand.

 

“Shut the fuck up! Just… Fuck you, Connor!”

 

“Jus’ lemme be! G'away!”

 

“No fuckin’ way! You don't tell me that I would replace my boy with anybody an’ tell me to fuck off!”

 

“Why else d'you keep me aroun’ then!?” Connor's voice changed in pitch, shrill and hysterical.

 

“Because I care about ya you stupid son of a bitch!”

 

“Why...why?! Why woul'you!? Why!?” Some of Hank's anger faded as he saw tears starting to leak out of Connor's eyes. “I'm broken! I was made t’way! Why would an’body…. Anybody….!?”

 

Connor's voice died down in a choked sob, his LED spinning a fast, bright crimson, before he looked up at Hank again.

 

“If y’even replaced your own son, when’ll you replace me, a broken, damage’ machine?!”

 

The words cut like poisonous knives, Hank no longer able to restrain himself, grabbing the collar of Connor's shirt, slamming him against the wall.

 

“I WOULD NEVER REPLACE COLE!”

 

Hank's voice echoed in the small room, his laboured breathing the only thing breaking the following silence.

 

“S’...I wasn't even good ‘nough to be that…”, Connor's voice was so quiet, the older man barely heard it over the pounding in his ears.

 

Hank felt concern and confusion seep into the anger as Connor let out a sudden, whimpering sob, practically collapsing, sliding out of Hank's grip and down onto the floor, into a miserable heap.

 

“I'm….not even good ‘'nough t'be a replacement…”

 

Hank took a careful step back, fury and adrenaline keeping him on edge, confusion rooting him to the spot.

He watched as Connor placed the bottle to his lips, draining it in a few, desperate gulps, eyes scrunched shut. It rolled out of Connor's hand as the android gasped for breath, hissing at the burn of the drink, before Connor let out a dry sob, curling in on himself, his stiff, cold limbs barely bending into position.

 

“I...i though’ i hadda home...i though’ y'wwere m'family…”

 

At that Hank felt the anger bleed out of him, his heart clenching with sympathy as lowered himself down to Connor, hands on the androids shoulders, rubbing them to warm them up. They were frozen to the touch, like metal in the winter or Hanks icebox at home.

 

“Son..” Hank tried carefully, watching for Connor's reaction. As Connor only whimpered, not lashing out again, Hank continued, pulling Connor into a gentle embrace as he spoke.

“You’re good ‘nough. You're part of my family. And my home's also yer's. You’re also wasted and probably overwhelmed with whatever kinda shit's coursin’ trough yer brain right now.”

 

Hank pulled the cold, still sobbing android to his feet, guiding him out of the building.

 

“Let's get ya home. Warm ya up. 'n ya can tell em what the hell's happened.”

 

They barely made it out of the building before Connor threw up all over the sidewalk and Hank's shoes.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm.... I'm thinking of making the next chapter the last one for this part of the series. :3 But I have many more parts planned <3


	17. And old man and an android

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor talk.

Snow was blown into the living room by a sudden gust of wind, as the door swung open with force, Hank stumbling inside, dragging a barely conscious Connor with him. Warding Sumo off, who had trotted over to see what all the fuss was about, Hank practically flung Connor on the couch, knocking a few of the cushions that took up most of it, down onto the floor in the process.

 

Hank sighed as he watched Connor curl up on himself, finally starting to shiver slightly. Shivering was good. Shivering was a start.

 

“Sumo!” Hank turned towards the confused dog and pointed at the miserable heap of plastic and metal that was Connor. “Up.” Sumo, wagging his tail with excitement, jumped onto the couch without hesitation and draped himself over the cold android, before looking at Hank with sad, worried eyes.

 

“I know, boy. We gotta warm him up.”

 

Sumo licked Connor's ear, before resting his head the androids shoulder.

Hank couldn't contain a small smile, peeling his wet shoes off of his feet, his mouth twisted in disgust, and threw them next to the clothes hamper in the bathroom. God, it was even worse when it was somebody else's vomit... Now there was only the problem of stopping Connor from freezing to death. Hank's gaze wandered through the room. He had a warm water bottle here somewhere… That should do the trick.

 

Arms full with blankets and a very shabby looking warm water bottle, Hank returned to the living room. Sumo didn't so much as blink as Hank piled blanked after blanked over both him and Connor, before sliding one of the pillows beneath Connor's head.

 

“Wha…?”

 

Half-lidded, hazy eyes looked up at Hank, the older man stroking a hand over Connor's head.

 

“Sleep, son. Ya deserve a bit of a rest after fucking yerself up like that.”

 

Connor blinked up at him, once, twice, his eyes staying close the third time, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. Hank pressed his lips together in thought. This wouldn't be a pleasant day for both of them. Sighing, Hank went over to the kitchen, turning on the electric tea kettle while he struggled with opening the hot water bottle. Where was the lid? Who would shape it like that?! How the hell… oh..like that. Easier than it seemed at first.

Filling the rubber bottle with hot water, Hank jammed the lid back onto it, sliding it into the pile of blankets and dog on the couch, before he let himself sink down on the empty space next to Connor's head. Now he just had to wait.

Hank turned on the TV, his hand stroking over Sumo's and Connor's hair and fur absentmindedly.

 

\------

 

“Uhh…” Connor groaned quietly, each sound, each movement sending a dull pain through his head, while a burning, sick sensation travelled all the way from his dry mouth down to his abdomens. His body was exhausted and aching, cold even though he felt surrounded by warmth.

Something soft and furry was breathing on top of him, but even the thought of opening his eyes seemed like a terrible idea. So Connor decided to only shift slightly, enough to free one of his hands and touch whatever was on top of him. The breathing blanket of fur gave a soft huff and licked Connor's ear as his hand stroked over it.

 

“Hello Sumo”, Connor whispered, wincing at how hoarse he sounded.

 

“Well, look who's awake. ‘boout time, it’s already dark outside.”

 

Connor flinched slightly at that. That wasn’t good. Hank wasn't somebody he wanted to see right now. Honestly, Connor didn’t want to see anybody right now. He only wanted to curl up and try to forget the past few hours. The downside of being an android was, that even though he was apparently able to have a hangover, his memory files were still intact, saved in that week's folder. The disappointment, the snow outside that still send chills through him, not because of cold, but because of an unexplained fear, the booze that repressed all those feelings, the fight with Hank. It was all still there.

But… Hank had taken time out of his day to look for Connor, to carry him back to the house. Maybe… Connor opened his eyes with a groan, looking up to see Hank sitting next to him, a pack of chips in his hand, crumbs in his beard. Maybe he should…talk with Hank? Or maybe he should try to leave again. Hide. Was he still wanted here? Had he ever truly been? Connor wasn't sure what he should do. He wasn't sure what was appropriate. He wasn't sure about anything at that moment. 

 

Sitting up, Connor gently pushed Sumo off of him, the dog jumping off the couch with an annoyed grunt, pulling one of the blankets with him and curling up on his favourite spot on the floor.

Connor wrapped one of the leftover blankets around himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as the world swayed and the throbbing in his head worsened, the sick feeling bubbling up in him worse than before. Hank, having experienced the same thing many times himself, recognized the signs immediately, grabbing Connor under his arms and pulling him to his feet, towards the sink in the kitchen. As Connor's artificial stomach emptied itself the moment he collapsed against the sink, leaning heavily against it for support as his legs almost gave away beneath him. Hank cringed as the Thirium splattered onto the metal, glad he hadn't tried to drag the android to the farther away bathroom. He would have definitely had to clean up a mess in the hallway is he had tried.

 

“Androids get hangovers too? Seems only fair.”

 

Connor coughed and whimpered, retched again for nothing to come up anymore, spitting blue into the sink and swaying on his feet, his eyes scrunched shut.

 

“Even though I would have granted ya the pleasure of not havin’ to experience this shit if I could.”

 

Arms steadied Connor, who had his head hung low over the sink, trying to wash out his mouth, his body not cooperating properly through the headache and the random bursts of electricity, caused by the light damage the alcohol had caused, that made his system flare up with warnings, his body react in strange and unpleasant ways.

 

“But ya did empty my last two bottles, so ya kno’...ya do kinda deserve this.”

 

Hank helped Connor back to the couch, the still cold android wrapping himself up in the blankets, sitting next to Hank, close but with more distance then usually. He seemed strangely out of place like he hadn't lived in this house for the past few months. Like they hadn't grown close over that time. Like he was a stranger in his own home.

Hank watched Connor fidged in place, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, before finally landing on Hank. The older man threw a smile at Connor, his beard twitching as the skin around his eyes crinkled.

 

Connor threw a crooked, unsure smirk back, before pulling his legs beneath himself, leaning against the back of the couch.

The TV filled the silence, none of them speaking a word for a few moments, Connor's hands rubbing up and down the blanket, pulling at the fabric, his LED spinning yellow. Hank sighed, Connor was always like that, always fidgeting, always buzzing with nervous energy. Even when he was calm, relaxed, his hands always looked for something to do, his body always had something tense about it. An android with anxiety, that was definitely not something Hank would have ever expected. But he had long learned that many of the things that happened didn’t ended up in a way he expected them to. Not even close.

Hank dipped his hand into the pocket of his jogging pants, pulled something out and threw the glinting, round object towards Connor.

It bounced off of Connor's chest, landing in one of his hands. It was his coin. He had completely forgotten it as he had stormed out of the house. His fingers drifted over the familiar ridges and dents in the metal, his LED melting into a calmer yellow.

Hank threw the pack of chips onto the coffee table and turned the volume off, clearing his throat.

 

“So… Ya ready to tell me what the whole thing was about..?”

 

Connor fumbled with his coin, circling it between his thumb and forefinger. He avoided Hank's gaze. This would be...harder than Hank expected. And he hadn’t expected it to be easy from the start.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

Connor nodded, the coin now spinning on top of his middle finger.

 

“Did...did ya get in trouble somehow?”

Connor shook his head, his gaze still darting through the room, avoiding Hank’s direction completely.

 

“Uh… shit...uhm...Was it ‘bout the accident yesterday..?”

 

Connor shook his head, but a frown appeared on his face. He nodded.

 

“Uh… so partly?”

 

Connor nodded.

 

“Come on son, ya gotta talk to me.

 

And finally,  _ finally,  _ Connor opened his mouth, his voice still hoarse, quiet, wavering slightly.

 

“You called me Cole”

 

The room rang with silence, Hank hearing his own heart beat faster. Oh no. Oh shit. Oh,  _ fuck _ !

 

“Son….listen...I...shit..”

 

“I just wish you hadn't shown me such….affection. I could handle being a replacement. But getting to feel like I am more, even though I can never be...It's...it's just too much..”

 

Hank lowered his head in his hands.

 

“You are not a replacement.”

 

“What am I then? Why did you compare me to him if I'm not?”

 

Hank growled in frustration.

 

“Because I thought I lost another part of my family, ya stupid plastic prick!”

 

Connor was taken aback at that, the coin slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft ‘'clink’.

 

“A-...  Another?”

 

“Yes, ya fuckin’ moron.  _ Another _ .” Hank raised his head, his blue ice burning with something Connor hasn't seen before. “When I heard that yer been in a car accident...well, shit how was I supposed to think 'bout anythin’, but how...unmoving 'n limp...how...how Cole….How was I supposed to not imagine ya, lyin’ in the snow the same way, bleedin’ out, taken from me the same way he was.”

 

Hank shook his head.

“Ya kinda look like him, but otherwise yer completely different. But that… I couldn’ stop thinkin’ of the crash that took my Cole… 'n I was drunk of my ass too, couldn't hold both things apart, couldn't deal with it… again.”

 

Connor swallowed thickly, the pounding in his head almost forgotten. Another… Hank had been…

 

“Have you been...worried about me..?”

 

Hank looked extremely offended at that.

 

“Of course I was! The fuck ya think me for, not given a shit ‘bout somethin’ like that!?”

 

“I...I thought…” Connor shifted uncomfortably, his fingers grasping at the hem of his shirt, no longer having a coin to fidget with.

 

“I… I hoped that you were worried about me but… I thought you were upset because… because it reminded you of your son. Not because I got… Damage-…”

 

Arms pulling Connor into a tight grip cut off his rambling. Connor sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into the embrace, glad to have a way to hide his face, glad to have a reassuring pressure and warmth all around him.

 

“You really are a fuckin’ moron for somebody who's basically a supercomputer.”

 

Hank sighed.

 

“ 'course I would care if ya got hurt. And hurt, not damaged. Yer alive. Ya get hurt. 'n I fuckin’ care 'bout ya. Don't make me say that 'gain.”

 

Connor finally wrapped his own arms around Hank, feeling waves of warmth and content sweep through him in an almost dizzying intensity. He wasn't a replacement. He was cared for. He was  _ wanted _ .

 

“I...I was just so….Back when that car hit me..”

 

Hank tensed slightly at those words. Connor hadn’t spoken to him about the accident yet, not like Hank had given him any chance to do so.

 

“A.. A woman hit me with her car...”

 

‘And then just left him to die’, Hank finished in his thoughts.

 

“And I...She got out to help me but…”

 

Hank feared the worst, hoping against hope that Connor wouldn’t say what Hank thought he was about to say.

 

“She saw that I’m an android.”

 

Yop. Hank was going to track that lady down and break her car. Or face. Or both. How fucking dare she run somebody over and just… leave them. Just because they are wires and plastic, instead of blood and flesh. Just because they bled a different colour. But an unpleasant voice in Hank’s mind reminded him that he would have left Connor for death too, only a few months ago, if he had been the one to hit him. And Hank was not proud of that thought. Because it was true. But not anymore. Now he gave a shit about androids. Now he would protect them like he protected humans. Especially Connor. Nobody would hurt Connor again his son again.

 

“She just...left me”, Connor’s voice was thick, wet patches forming on the fabric over Hank’s shoulder. Hank stroked a reassuring hand over Connor’s back, humming soothing sounds into the androids ear.

“She.. just left me. Glad that she hadn’t hit a ‘real person’. Driving away, telling her son that ‘somebody would clean this mess up. That ‘it was just a machine’.”

Anger and frustration had seeped into Connor’s voice, his hands clutching the back of Hank’s shirt in tight, shaking fists.

 

As soon as the anger had bubbled up, as soon it left again, Connor deflating into Hank’s embrace.

 

“I.. I haven’t been sure from the start. Haven’t been sure if I was actually, truly alive.”

 

“Con…”

 

“I was build broken. Build to deviate. So how can I know if I ever actually did? How can I know if I’m not still a machine, just simulating, just pretending?”

 

“Con, listen…”

 

“If other’s don’t see me as somebody alive if they just leave me to die once I get broken, throw me out like old garbage, how am I supposed to see myself as a living being?!”

 

Connor’s voice was laced with hurt, with deeprooted fear, and it broke Hank's heart to hear the kid talk like that.

 

“Con. Fuckin’ listen”, Hank’s grip on the android got stronger, something fierce, protective flashing in his blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter what some fucking dickwad thinks of you. It hurts, it’s allowed to hurt. But it doesn’t fucking matter. ‘n it doesn’t matter if you are no longer a machine, ‘n believe me ya definitely aren’t anymore if you’ve ever fully been one, to begin with... But even if ya are, you're still Connor. You’re alive in yer own way.”

 

Connor’s breathing started to even out slowly, only hitching a few times as he pressed himself closer to Hank, his hand’s no longer shaking, but still holding onto the shirt.

 

“I wouldn’t throw ya out, no matter what ya are. ‘n yer not broken either. Yer sassy, annoyin’ and just a pain in the ass, but yer not broken. ‘n even if ya were, even if ya are someday, I still wouldn’t just dump ya somewhere.”

 

Hank grimaced slightly. he really wasn’t good at pep talks. Or talks in general. 

 

“ ‘n yer not a replacement.” Hank's voice was quiet and gentle next to Connor's ear. “Nobody…” Hank swallowed thickly. “Nobody could ever replace Cole. ‘n I wouldn't want anybody to.”

 

There was something fragile dancing trough Hank's voice, like a thin sheet of ice, so easy to break but still staying in one piece.

 

“But… maybe's time to… to move on. I will always miss him. But I care for ya Con, ‘n if ya can tolerate this old, grumpy man, I would be…”

 

Hank broke the hug, holding Connor by his shoulders to look him into the face. There was a warm smile on the older man's face.

 

“I wouldn't mind havin’ ya… as a part of my family.”

 

There was an unspoken part, one Hank wasn't ready to say yet. He could call Connor ‘son’, 'kid’, all kinds of nicknames. But he couldn't  _ actually _ call him a son yet, wasn't able to admit out loud how he really saw this awkward android who had stumbled into his life. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth, even if he had the courage to try. Not yet. Not tomorrow. And not next week.

 

But he was finally ready to make a first step.

 

And the way Connor practically flung himself at Hank, not even trying to stifle another sob, this time not from sadness or anger, the other was too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy fucking howdy, here we are. A nice and cheesy happy ending, exactly how I like it :3
> 
> This is the end of this part, but NOT of this series!   
> I have planned several more parts for this series and I'm extremely excited to write them all!
> 
> Until then, visit me over on Tumblr if you want.  
> [My Hank and Connor blog](https://ask-whiskyman-robotson.tumblr.com/)  
> [My dbh headcanon and shitpost blog](https://headcanon-send-by-cyberlife.tumblr.com/)


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